Udtnona  IReaDing  Circle  literature. 


LATIN   CLASSICS 


IN   ENGLISH 


BY 

WILLIAM   CLEAVER  WILKINSON 


WINONA  PUBLISHING  CO. 
CHICAGO 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER. 


PAGE. 


I.    THE  LITERATURE  OF  EOME          ....        7 

II.    SALLUST 13 

III.  OVID 21 

IV.  CESAR        .......  28 

V.    CICERO        ....'...  51 

VI.    VIRGIL        .       .       .      ^       .       .       .  91 

VII.    LIVY    .                143 

VIII.    TACITUS 175 

IX.    PLAUTUS  AND  TERENCE          ....  217 

X.    LUCRETIUS 245 

XI.    HORACE      .       .       .       .       .       .  259 

XII.    JUVENAL,     . 281 

XIII.    EPILOGUE           .               .        .        .        .  296 

INDEX         .......  297 


1536297 


CLASSIC  LATIN  COURSE  IN  ENGLISH. 


CHAPTEE  I. 

THE  LITERATURE  OF  ROME. 

OVER  everything  pertaining  to  Rome,  except  her  language 
and  her  literature,  the  name  Roman  lords  it  exclusively.  We 
say,  Roman  power,  Roman  conquest,  Roman  law,  Roman 
architecture,  Roman  art,  Roman  history.  It  is  curious  that 
the  language  always,  and  the  literature  generally,  of  Rome 
should  be  called,  not  Roman,  but  Latin.  The  circumstance 
may  be  taken  to  indicate,  what  is  indeed  the  fact  in  reference 
to  Rome,  that  literature  was  for  her  a  subordinate  interest. 
Unlike  Greece,  Rome  is  less  remarkable  for  what  she  wrote 
than  for  what  she  wrought.  But  if  Rome  wrote  as  it  were 
with  her  left  hand,  while  she  wrought  with  her  right,  that 
left  hand  of  hers  was  yet  an  instrument  of  marvelous  cunning 
and  power.  We  are  to  study  here  in  specimen  the  literature  it 
produced.  We  confine  ourselves  to  that  section  of  the  litera- 
ture conventionally  called  classic. 

The  period  during  which  classic  Latin  literature,  strictly 
so-called,  came  into  existence  was,  in  comparison  to  the  whole 
life  of  the  Roman  people,  very  short.  The  classic  period  may 
fairly  enough  be  considered  as  extending  from  about  80  B.  C. 
to  108  A.  D.,  and  as  thus  covering  one  hundred  and  eighty- 
eignt  years — a  little  less  than  the  space  of  six  generations. 

7 


8  CLASSIC  LATIN  COURSE  IN  ENGLISH. 

Cicero  begins  and  Tacitus  (Tass/i-tus)  ends  this  period.  All 
before  is  ante-classic ;  all  after,  post-classic.  Literature  with 
the  Romans  is  thus  seen  to  have  been  both  late  to  spring 
into  life  and  early  to  fall  into  decay.  The  names  of  Roman 
writers  familiar  now  to  the  popular  ear  are  few  in  number, 
and  they  are  clustered  together  in  time,  like  the  stars  of  a  con- 
stellation in  the  sky. 

Liv/i-us  An-dro-ni/cus  (ante-classic,  about  280  B.  C.)  may  be 
regarded  as  the  beginner  of  Latin  literature.  He  was  an 
Italian  Greek,  made  prisoner  at  the  Roman  capture  of  Ta- 
rentum — prisoner,  and  by  natural  consequence,  slave.  He 
became  a  freedman  and  a  writer  of  tragedy.  It  is  historically 
significant  that  Roman  literature  should  have  been  begun 
by  a  Greek.  Rome  conquered  Greece,  but  as  Horace  says, 
"  Captive  Greece  took  captive  her  rude  conqueror."  What 
Livius  Andronicus  wrote  in  Latin  was  no  doubt  mainly  trans- 
lation from  the  writer's  native  Greek.  Of  his  indifferent  verse 
a  few  fragments  only  remain. 

Nsevius  is  another  mere  name  in  Latin  literature.  He 
wrote  a  sort  of  epic  on  the  first  Punic  war,  esteemed  by 
scholars  one  of  the  chief  lost  things  in  Latin  literature.  It 
contained  notices  of  previous  Roman  history,  which  nothing 
survives  to  replace.  Cicero,  who  had  a  capacity  for  apprecia- 
ting, as  great  as  was  his  capacity  for  creating,  expresses 
strongly  the  delight  he  experienced  in  reading  the  epic  of 
Nsevius. 

The  next  great  name  in  Latin  literature  is  still  to  us  little 
more  than  a  name.  It  is  Ennius.  Ennius  is  praised  by 
Cicero,  by  Lu-cre/ti-us ;  Virgil  does  not  praise  him,  but  he 
copies  him  ;  while  Horace,  too,  does  not  altogether  disdain 
to  acknowledge  merit  in  his  verse.  It  is  tantalizing  to  think 
that  Ennius  was  lost  to  the  world  only  so  long  ago  as  the 
thirteenth  century. 

We  may  skip  other  names  after  Ennius,  until  we  come 


THE  LITERATURE  OP  ROME.  9 

to  names  as  familiar  as  those  of  Plau'tus  and  Ter'ence.  These 
two  were  the  great  Roman  writers  of  comedy.  Nsevius  had 
done  something  in  the  line  of  the  comic  drama,  but  the 
truly  indigenous  literary  product,  like  that  which  Nsevius 
attempted  to  furnish,  seemed  somehow  never  to  thrive  in 
Rome.  Plautus  and  Terence  won  their  triumphs  by  boldly 
importing  their  intellectual  wares  from  Greece.  Of  Terence, 
Julius  Csesar,  in  a  celebrated  epigram,  spoke  slightingly,  as 
but  "  ahalf-Menander."  The  epigrammatist  named  thus  the 
Greek  (Menan'der)  from  whom  the  Roman,  if  Roman  in- 
deed this  writer  is  to  be  called — for  Terence  was  a  native  of 
Carthage — purveyed  his  comedies.  The  works  of  these  two 
writers,  Plautus  and  Terence,  represent  to  us,  and  represent 
alone,  the  literature  of  the  Roman  theater.  The  two  men 
were  partly  contemporary,  but  Plautus  was  Terence's  senior. 
Roman  life  and  manners,  beginning,  through  superfluous 
wealth  and,  one  grieves  to  say  it,  through  corrupting  influence 
and  example  imported  from  Greece,  to  show  deterioration 
from  their  ancient  simplicity  and  comparative  virtue,  are 
vividly  portrayed  in  the  comedies  of  Plautus  and  of  Terence. 

Another  important  source  of  knowledge  respecting  the 
everyday  life  and  morality  of  the  ancient  Romans  is  to  be 
found  in  the  satires  which  their  writers  produced.  The  satire 
may  be  said  to  be  a  form  of  composition  in  verse  original  with 
Rome.  In  satire  more  naturally  by  far  than  in  comedy,  the 
Roman  genius  could  unbend  from  its  habitual  and  character- 
istic severity.  Perhaps  Roman  satire  was  hardly,  to  the 
Romans,  an  unbending  from  severity ;  say,  rather,  it  was 
with  them  a  way  of  giving  loose  to  severity.  At  all  events, 
satire  is  a  kind  of  verse  in  which  the  Romans  distance  all 
competitors.  The  great  Roman  masters  in  this  literary  form 
are  Horace  and  Juvenal.  But  the  spirit  of  satire  is  a  very 
pervasive  spirit  throughout  Roman  literature. 

To  Cato,  famous  always  and  everywhere  as  Cato  the  Censor, 


10  CLASSIC  LATIN  COURSE  IN  ENGLISH. 

may  be  attributed  the  merit  of  being  the  founder  or  former 
of  Latin  prose.  For  this  service  to  Latin  literature,  Cato's 
merit  is  as  distinctive  and  as  indisputable,  as  is  the  merit  of 
Ennius  for  a  corresponding  influence  exercised  in  fixing  the 
mold  of  Latin  verse.  But  while  Ennius  hellenized,  that  is, 
followed  Greek  models,  Cato,  in  principle  and  in  practice,  was 
stanchly  Roman.  There  is  something  whimsical  in  the  fact 
that  one  of  the  great  creators  of  Roman  literature  should  have 
been,  as  Cato  undoubtedly  was,  quite  sincerely  and  cordially  a 
despiser  of  literature.  Cato  wrote  to  decry  writing,  as  Carlyle 
lately  deafened  us  all  to  recommend  silence.  Unhappily,  Cato 
is  now  mainly  but  a  tradition  in  Latin  letters.  He  wrote 
an  important  historical  work,  the  loss  of  which  leaves  an 
irreparable  breach  in  the  continuity  of  primitive  Roman 
story.  Cato  is  also  named  for  praise  by  Cicero  as  the  first 
Roman  orator  worthy  of  that  title. 

Oratory,  from  early  times  down  to  the  establishment  of 
the  empire — true  oratory  the  empire  extinguished — was  a 
favorite  form  of  intellectual  activity  among  the  Romans. 
It  has  happened,  however,  and  this  from  the  nature  of  things, 
that  of  the  immense  volume  of  an  eloquence  hardly  per- 
haps, in  the  aggregate,  equaled  by  that  of  any  other  nation, 
ancient  or  modern,  comparatively  little  remains  to  justify  the 
fame  which  Roman  oratory  traditionally  enjoys.  The  orator's 
triumph,  as  it  is  the  most  intense,  is  likewise  the  most  mo- 
mentary of  all  intellectual  victories.  Cicero,  among  Romans, 
reigns  alone,  in  glorious  companionship  with  Demosthenes 
among  Greeks,  as  one  of  the  two  undisputedly  greatest 
masters  of  human  speech  that  have  ever  appeared  on  the 
planet.  jEschines  (Es'ki-neez)  survives,  in  equivocal  renown, 
as  foil  to  Demosthenes — Hortensius  enjoying  a  similar  privi- 
lege of  continued  remembrance  in  connection  with  Cicero. 
While  of  ^Eschines,  however,  we  still  have  the  really  brilliant 
speech  which  provoked  from  his  victorious  rival  that  "  bright 


THE  LITERATURE  OF  ROME.  11 

consummate  flower"  of  eloquence,  the  Oration  on  the  Crown, 
nothing  remains  of  Hortensius  but  the  splendid  tradition  of 
his  fame.  For  other  Roman  orators,  there  are  the  brothers 
Gracchi  (Grak'ki),  Crassus,  and  that  universal  man,  not  less 
capable  of  great  words  than  of  great  deeds,  Julius  Caesar. 

Cato,  as  founder  of  history  for  Rome,  had  a  following  not 
less  distinguished  than  that  which,  as  has  been  seen,  he 
drew  after  him  as  founder  of  oratory.  After  we  have  men- 
tioned, first,  Caesar,  that  name  appearing  so  often,  and  always 
among  the  foremost,  when  you  recall  the  glories  of  Rome 
in  different  spheres  of  achievement ;  next,  Sallust,  emulating 
but  hardly  rivaling  Thucydides  in  force  and  in  point ;  then, 
Livy,  of  the  "  pictured  page,"  with  his  lost  books,  perhaps  the 
chief  theme  of  hopeless  deploring  for  the  lovers  of  classical 
literature  and  the  students  of  Roman  antiquity  ;  and,  fourth, 
Tacitus,  grave,  severe,  pathetic — but  loftily,  indignantly 
pathetic,  with  pathos  made  bitter  and  virile  by  sarcasm — 
illustrating  in  his  practice  that  definition  of  history  which 
calls  it  philosophy  teaching  by  example,  and  so  placing  him- 
self chronologically  second  in  the  line,  in  which  Thucydides 
stands  first,  of  philosophical  historians — when,  we  say,  we 
have  mentioned  these  four  names,  we  have  not,  indeed,  ex- 
hausted, but  we  have  adequately  suggested,  the  list  of  Roman 
historical  writers.  Cornelius  Nepos — and  the  same  is  true 
of  Suetonius — was  a  biographer  rather  than  a  historian.  Sue- 
tonius deserves  higher  regard  ;  but  the  pretensions  of  Nepos, 
as  a  man  of  letters,  are  humble,  and  what  survives  of  his  work 
is  rather  tame  reading. 

It  was  reserved  for  the  age  of  Augustus  to  produce  the  great 
epic  of  Rome,  the  JEne'id  of  Virgil.  Whatever  the  merits 
of  the  poem,  the  ^Eneid  has  had  a  fortune  of  fame  and  of 
influence  that  pairs  it,  in  unchallenged  pre-eminence,  with  the 
Iliad  of  Homer.  With  Virgil  was  matched  and  contrasted,  in 
a  lifelong  friendship  equally  honorable  to  both,  a  very  differ- 


12  CLASSIC  LATIN  COUBSK  IN  ENGLISH. 

ent  poet — by  eminence  the  Roman  poet  of  society  and  man- 
ners— Horace,  of  a  fame  fulfilling  his  own  celebrated  boast  and 
prediction  concerning  himself:  "I  have  reared  for  myself 
a  monument  more  enduring  than  brass."  Horace  has  a 
peculiar  persisting  modernness  of  manner  that  keeps  him  per- 
haps the  most  read  and  the  most  quoted  of  all  ancient  poets. 

In  connection  with  Virgil  and  Horace,  let  us  make  mention, 
in  one  word,  of  a  man  who,  producing,  indeed,  no  valuable 
literature  himself,  became,  nevertheless,  alike  by  his  initiative, 
by  his  taste,  and  by  his  munificence,  to  such  an  extent  the 
cause  to  others  of  their  producing  of  literature,  that  his 
very  name  is  now  an  immortal  synonym  for  enlightened 
and  generous  patronage  of  culture.  If  you  wish  to  dignify  by 
a  name  some  wise  and  liberal  encourager  of  intellectual 
activity  you  call  him  a  Mse-ce'nas.  Augustus  himself  sur- 
passed his  minister  Maecenas  in  patronizing  genius,  only  as 
the  sovereign  may  always  surpass  the  subject.  Ovid,  how- 
ever, a  poet  in  this  important  respect  less  happy  than  his 
contemporaries,  Virgil  and  Horace,  felt  the  weight  of  imperial 
displeasure.  Banished  from  Rome  by  Augustus,  he  became  as 
famous  to  all  time  for  his  unmanly  tears  in  exile,  as  he  had 
been  before  for  his  much-appreciated  verse. 

Ovid  in  Pontus,  puling  for  his  Rome, 

Is  the  merciless  line  in  which  Mr.  Lowell,  in  his  "  Cathedral," 
pillories  him  for  the  contempt  of  mankind. 

We  must  not  close  this  rapid  and  summary  survey  of 
Latin  literature  without  remarking  that  it  was  proper  of  the 
Roman  genius  to  produce  a  copious  literature  about  literature, 
in  the  form  of  grammatical,  rhetorical,  and  critical  treatises, 
which,  however,  we  are  compelled,  though  they  include 
such  works  of  imperishable  value  as  Quintilian's,  to  pass  with 
this  mere  note  of  their  existence. 


CHAPTER  II. 

,  SALLUST. 

• 

IT  is  the  idea  of  the  present  volume,  as  of  its  companion 
volume  for  Greek,  to  follow  somewhat  in  order  the  course  of 
study  customarily  adopted  in  school  and  college.  Usually, 
Csesar  is  the  first  important  author  to  whom  continuous  study 
is  devoted ;  and  after  Csesar  follows  Virgil.  Not  unfrequently, 
however,  a  substitution  is  made,  Sallust  taking  the  place  of 
Csesar  for  prose,  and  Ovid  of  Virgil  for  verse. 

In  consideration  of  this  latter  fact,  we  introduce  Sallust  and 
Ovid  into  these  pages.  At  the  same  time,  in  view  of  the  pre- 
dominance on  the  whole  accorded  to  Csesar  and  Virgil,  we  dis- 
pose of  the  substitute  authors  first  and  in  less  space,  as 
comparatively  subordinate  in  rank  and  importance. 

Sallust  wrote  three  historical  works,  the  "  Conspiracy  of 
Catiline,"  the  "  Jugurthine  War,"  and  a  "History  of  Rome 
from  the  Death  of  Sulla  [Sylla]  to  the  Mithridatic  War." 
This  last,  the  most  important  of  the  three,  has,  with  the 
exception  of  a  few  fragments,  perished.  The  other  two — his- 
torical monographs,  or  even  politico-historical  pamphlets,  we 
might  almost  call  them,  rather  than  histories — remain  to  us 
entire.  We  shall  let  Sallust  appear  in  his  "  Jugurthine  War." 
This  will  bring  the  celebrated  Caius  Marius  before  us,  as  de- 
lineated by  one  of  the  great  ancient  masters  of  historical 
composition.  And  Jugurtha  himself  is  a  striking  and  com- 
manding figure,  set  in  temporary  lurid  relief  against  the 
threatened,  but  finally  victorious,  greatness  of  Rome. 

13 


14  CLASSIC  LATIN  COUBSE  IN  ENGLISH. 

Caius — or  to  adopt  the  latest  vogue  in  Latin  scholarship, 
Gaius  or  Gajus — Sallustius  Crispus,  more  familiar  as  simply 
Sallust,  the  historian,  was  born  86  B.  C.  We  know  little 
of  the  beginning  of  his  life.  He  became  senator  early  enough 
to  be,  ostensibly  for  his  profligate  manners,  expelled  from  the 
senate  when  he  was  thirty-six  years  old.  He  got  his  seat 
again  three  years  afterwards.  He  was  lucky  enough  to 
choose  his  side  with  Caesar  in  the  civil  war,  and  for  this  was 
made  governor  of  Numidia.  His  Numidian  experience,  per- 
haps, qualified  him  the  better  to  treat  the  subject  of  his 
"  Jugurthine  War."  It  at  least  gave  him  the  opportunity 
to  amass  immense  riches,  with  which  to  retire  from  public 
life  and  devote  himself  to  literature.  He  died,  however,  at 
the  comparatively  early  age  of  fifty-two.  The  residence  he 
occupied  in  Rome  was  in  the  midst  of  grounds  laid  out  and 
beautified  by  him  with  the  most  lavish  magnificence.  These 
grounds  became  subsequently  the  chosen  resort  of  the  Roman 
emperors.  They  still  bear  the  name  of  the  Gardens  of  Sallust. 
Sallust  moralized  with  much  virtue  in  his  histories,  but  his 
actual  life  was  said  to  be  deformed  with  nearly  every  vice  and 
excess. 

The  war  against  Jugurtha,  a  usurper  of  the  throne  of 
Numidia,  had  been  prosecuted  by  Rome  with  various  fortune, 
inclining  to  be  favorable  to  Jugurtha.  Caius  Marius,  a  lieu- 
tenant of  patrician  Metellus  the  Roman  general  in  command, 
goes  to  Rome,  where  he  is  elected  consul.  Metellus  on  the 
field  was  advised  from  Rome  that  Marius  had  been  appointed 
his  successor  in  the  war.  The  proud  spirit  broke  at  this 
humiliation.  Metellus  wept. 

Sallust  had  previously,  with  a  few  graphic  and  powerful 
strokes,  thus  painted  Caius  Marius  into  his  canvas : 

About  the  same  time,  as  Caius  Marius,  who  happened  to  be  at 
Utica  [in  Africa],  was  sacrificing  to  the  gods,  an  augur  told  him 
that  great  and  wonderful  things  were  presaged  to  him;  that  he 


SALLUST.  15 

might  therefore  pursue  whatever  designs  he  had  formed,  trusting 
to  the  gods  for  success ;  and  that  he  might  try  fortune  as  often  as 
he  pleased,  for  that  all  his  undertakings  would  prosper.  Pre- 
viously to  this  period,  an  ardent  longing  for  the  consulship  had 
possessed  him ;  and  he  had,  indeed,  every  qualification  for  obtain- 
ing it,  except  antiquity  of  family;  he  had  industry,  integrity, 
great  knowledge  of  war,  and  a  spirit  undaunted  in  the  field ;  he 
was  temperate  in  private  life,  superior  to  pleasure  and  riches,  and 
ambitious  only  of  glory.  Having  been  born  at  Arpinum  and 
brought  up  there  during  his  boyhood,  he  employed  himself,  as  soon 
as  he  was  of  age  to  bear  arms,  not  in  the  study  of  Greek  eloquence 
nor  in  learning  the  refinements  of  the  city,  but  in  military  service ; 
and  thus,  amid  the  strictest  discipline,  his  excellent  genius  soon 
attained  full  vigor.  "When  he  solicited  the  people,  therefore,  for 
the  military  tribuneship,  he  was  well  known  by  name,  though 
most  were  strangers  to  his  face,  and  unanimously  elected  by  the 
tribes.  After  this  office  he  attained  others  in  succession,  and  con- 
ducted himself  so  well  in  his  public  duties  that  he  was  always 
deemed  worthy  of  a  higher  station  than  he  had  reached.  Yet, 
though  such  had  been  his  character  hitherto  (for  he  was  afterwards 
carried  away  by  ambition),  he  had  not  ventured  to  stand  for  the 
consulship.  The  people,  at  that  time,  still  disposed  of  other  civil 
offices,  but  the  nobility  transmitted  the  consulship  from  hand  to 
hand  among  themselves.  Nor  had  any  commoner  appeared,  how- 
ever famous  or  distinguished  by  his  achievements,  who  would  not 
have  been  thought  unworthy  of  that  honor,  and,  as  it  were,  a  dis- 
grace to  it. 

Marius,  still  in  Rome,  was  drunk  with  natural  wild  tem- 
perament and  with  success.  He  carried  everything  before 
him.  The  haughty  senate  was  at  the  feet  of  this  humble  com- 
moner, this  son  of  the  people.  He  spurned  them  in  a  popular 
harangue  which  Sallust  constructs  for  him.  We  give  a  few 
characteristic  sentences  : 

"  My  speech,  they  say,  is  inelegant,  but  ...  I  have  gained 
other  accomplishments,  such  as  are  of  the  utmost  benefit  to  a  state ; 
I  have  learned  to  strike  down  an  enemy ;  to  be  vigilant  at  my  post ; 
to  fear  nothing  but  dishonor ;  to  bear  cold  and  heat  with  equal  en- 
durance ;  to  sleep  on  the  ground,  and  to  sustain  at  the  same  time 
hunger  and  fatigue.  And  with  such  rules  of  conduct  I  shall  stimu- 
late my  soldiers,  not  treating  them  with  rigor  and  myself  with  in- 
dulgence, nor  making  their  toils  my  glory.  Such  a  mode  of 
commanding  is  at  once  useful  to  the  state  and  becoming  to  a  citi- 


16  CLASSIC  LATIN  COURSE  IN  ENGLISH. 

zen.    For  to  coerce  your  troops  with  severity,  while  you  yourself 
live  at  ease,  is  to  be  a  tyrant,  not  a  general." 

Marius  easily  raised  a  great  army.  Everybody  was  eager  to 
be  a  soldier  under  the  idolized  hero  of  the  hour.  He  began  by 
whetting  the  appetite  of  his  troops  with  maddening  tastes  of 
plunder.  He  captured  places  and  gave  up  the  booty  to  his 
men.  He  rapidly  made  for  himself  an  army  after  his  own 
heart — as  fierce  as  brave,  and  as  greedy  as  fierce.  The  effect  of 
dazzling  immediate  success  on  the  part  of  Marius  was  to  make 
him  almost  a  god  in  the  eyes  of  both  friends  and  foes.  Thence- 
forward, a  fine  saying  of  Virgil's,  by  him  applied  to  a  compara- 
tively trivial  occasion,  will  be  true  in  this  war  for  Marius.  He 
will  be  able,  for  he  will  seem  to  be  able. 

Another  celebrated  character  soon  enters  upon  the  scene  of 
Sallust's  story,  to  play  a  brilliant,  though  a  subordinate  part. 
The  player  of  a  second  part  now,  this  man  is  destined  in  the 
sequel  to  drive  Marius  himself  off  the  stage.  It  is  no  other 
than  Lucius  Sylla,  the  future  dictator  of  Rome.  Sallust  is  not 
reluctant  to  illustrate  his  page  with  a  strong  portrait  in  words 
of  this  remarkable  man.  Our  readers  must  see  the  delineation, 
unchanged  except  as  translated.  And  here  it  is  : 

Sylla,  then,  was  of  patrician  descent,  but  of  a  family  almost  sunk 
in  obscurity  by  the  degeneracy  of  his  forefathers.  He  was  skilled, 
equally  and  profoundly,  in  Greek  and  Roman  literature.  He  was 
a  man  of  large  mind,  fond  of  pleasure,  but  fonder  of  glory.  His 
leisure  was  spent  in  luxurious  gratifications,  but  pleasure  never 
kept  him  from  his  duties,  except  that  he  might  have  acted  more 
for  his  honor  with  regard  to  his  wife.  He  was  eloquent  and  subtle, 
and  lived  on  the  easiest  terms  with  his  friends.  His  depth  of 
thought  in  disguising  his  intentions  was  incredible.  He  was 
liberal  of  most  things,  but  especially  of  money.  And  though  he 
was  the  most  fortunate  of  all  men  before  his  victory  in  the  civil 
war,  yet  his  fortune  was  never  beyond  his  desert ;  and  many  have 
expressed  a  doubt  whether  his  success  or  his  merit  were  the  greater. 
As  to  his  subsequent  acts,  I  know  not  whether  more  of  shame  or  of 
regret  must  be  felt  at  the  recital  of  them. 

When  Sylla  came  with  his  cavalry  into  Africa,  as  has  just 
been  stated,  and  arrived  at  the  camp  of  Marius,  though  he  had 


SALLTJST.  17 

hitherto  been  unskilled  and  undisciplined  in  the  art  of  war,  he 
became,  in  a  short  time,  the  most  expert  of  the  whole  army. 
He  was,  besides,  affable  to  the  soldiers ;  he  conferred  favors  on 
many  at  their  request,  and  on  others  of  his  own  accord,  and 
was  reluctant  to  receive  any  in  return.  But  he  repaid  other  obliga- 
tions more  readily  than  those  of  a  pecuniary  nature ;  he  himself 
demanded  repayment  from  no  one,  but  rather  made  it  his  object 
that  as  many  as  possible  should  be  indebted  to  him.  He  con- 
versed, jocosely  as  well  as  seriously,  with  the  humblest  of  the 
soldiers;  he  was  their  frequent  companion  at  their  works,  on 
the  march,  and  on  guard.  Nor  did  he  ever,  as  is  usual  with  de- 
praved ambition,  attempt  to  injure  the  character  of  the  consul  or  of 
any  deserving  person.  His  sole  aim,  whether  in  the  council  or  the 
field,  was  to  suffer  none  to  excel  him ;  to  most  he  was  superior. 
By  such  conduct  he  soon  became  a  favorite  both  with  Marius 
and  with  the  army. 

Marius  was  inarching  to  winter  quarters,  when  one  day,  just 
before  dark,  the  combined  armies  of  the  two  kings,  Jugurtha 
and  Bocchus  (an  ally  of  Jugurtha,  and  his  father-in-law), 
suddenly  fell  upon  him.  It  was  a  complete  surprise.  What 
happened  illustrates  so  well  the  accounts  given  by  historians 
of  the  discipline  and  valor  of  Roman  legionaries,  that  we 
present  the  narrative  in  Sallust's  own  words,  simply  making  a 
few  silent  omissions  necessary  for  economy  of  space  : 

Before  the  troops  could  either  form  themselves  or  collect  the  bag- 
gage, before  they  could  receive  even  a  signal  or  an  order,  the 
Moorish  and  Getulian  horse,  not  in  line  or  any  regular  array  of 
battle,  but  in  separate  bodies,  as  chance  had  united  them, 
rushed  furiously  on  our  men ;  who,  though  all  struck  with  a  panic, 
yet,  calling  to  mind  what  they  had  done  on  former  occasions, 
either  seized  their  arms  or  protected  those  who  were  looking  for 
theirs,  while  some,  springing  on  their  horses,  advanced  against  the 
enemy.  But  the  whole  conflict  was  more  like  a  rencounter 
with  robbers  than  a  battle;  the  horse  and  foot  of  the  enemy, 
mingled  together  without  standards  or  order,  wounded  some  of  our 
men  and  cut  down  others  and  surprised  many  in  the  rear  while 
fighting  stoutly  with  those  in  front ;  neither  valor  nor  arms  were  a 
sufficient  defense,  the  enemy  being  superior  in  numbers  and 
covering  the  field  on  all  sides.  At  last  the  Roman  veterans, 
who  were  necessarily  well  experienced  in  war,  formed  them- 
selves, wherever  the  nature  of  the  ground  or  chance  allowed 
them  to  unite,  in  circular  bodies,  and,  thus  secured  on  every 


18  CLASSIC  LATIN  COURSE  IN  ENGLISH. 

side  and  regularly  drawn  up,  withstood  the  attacks  of  the  enemy. 

Marius,  in  this  desperate  emergency,  was  not  more  alarmed 
or  disheartened  than  on  any  previous  occasion,  but  rode  about 
with  his  troop  of  cavalry,  which  he  had  formed  of  his  bravest 
soldiers  rather  than  his  nearest  friends,  in  every  quarter  of  the 
field,  sometimes  supporting  his  own  men  when  giving  way,  some- 
times charging  the  enemy  where  they  were  thickest,  and  doing 
service  to  his  troops  with  his  sword,  since,  in  the  general  con- 
fusion, he  was  unable  to  command  with  his  voice. 

The  day  had  now  closed.  .  .  .  Marius,  that  his  men  might 
have  a  place  of  retreat,  took  possession  of  two  hills  contiguous 
to  each  other.  .  .  .  The  kings,  obliged  by  the  strength  of  the 
Roman  position,  were  deterred  from  continuing  the  combat.  .  .  . 
Having  then  lighted  numerous  fires,  the  barbarians,  after  their 
custom,  spent  most  of  the  night  in  merriment,  exultation,  and 
tumultuous  clamor,  the  kings,  elated  at  having  kept  their  ground, 
conducting  themselves  as  conquerors,  This  scene,  plainly  visible 
to  the  Romans,  under  cover  of  the  night  and  on  the  higher  ground, 
afforded  great  encouragement  to  them. 

Marius  kept  his  army  perfectly  still,  let  the  poor  Africans 
have  their  riot  out,  let  them  sink  into  exhausted  sleep,  and 
then,  falling  upon  them  at  daybreak,  slaughtered  them  as  if 
they  had  been  sheep. 

Marius  now  again  takes  up  his  march  to  winter  quarters. 
A  few  touches  added  to  the  portrait  of  Marius  are  as  full  of 
the  artist's  power  as  they  are  of  the  subject's  character : 

Marius  himself  too,  as  if  no  other  were  placed  in  charge,  attended 
to  everything,  went  through  the  whole  of  the  troops,  and  praised 
or  blamed  them  according  to  their  desert.  He  was  always  armed 
and  on  the  alert,  and  obliged  his  men  to  imitate  his  example.  He 
fortified  his  camp  with  the  same  caution  with  which  he  marched ; 
stationing  cohorts  of  the  legions  to  watch  the  gates,  and  the  auxil- 
iary cavalry  in  front,  and  others  upon  the  ramparts  and  lines.  He 
went  round  the  posts  in  person,  not  from  suspicion  that  his  orders 
would  not  be  observed,  but  that  the  labor  of  the  soldiers,  shared 
equally  by  their  general,  might  be  endured  by  them  with  cheerful- 
ness. Indeed,  Marius,  as  well  at  this  as  at  other  periods  of  the 
war,  kept  his  men  to  their  duty  rather  by  the  dread  of  shame  than 
of  severity ;  a  course  which  many  said  was  adopted  from  a  desire 
of  popularity ;  but  some  thought  it  was  because  he  took  pleasure 
in  toils  to  which  he  had  been  accustomed  from  his  youth,  and 
in  exertions  which  other  men  call  perfect  miseries.  The  public  in- 


SALLUST.  19 

terest,  however,  was  served  with  as  much  efficiency  and  honor 
as  it  could  have  been  under  the  most  rigorous  command. 

The  caution  of  Marius  was  wise.  On  the  fourth  day  follow- 
ing, the  indefatigable,  the  unconquerable  spirit  of  Jugurtha 
brought  him  again  to  the  attack.  He  almost  won  the  day, 
but  once  more  those  invincible  Romans  snatched  victory 
out  of  the  very  jaws  of  defeat.  The  battlefield,  as  it  appeared 
at  this  moment,  is  described  by  Sallust  in  a  celebrated  sen- 
tence : 

The  spectacle  on  the  open  plains  was  then  frightful;  some 
were  pursuing,  others  fleeing ;  some  were  being  slain,  others  cap- 
tured ;  men  and  horses  were  dashed  to  the  earth ;  many,  who  were 
wounded,  could  neither  flee  nor  remain  at  rest,  attempting  to 
rise  and  instantly  falling  back;  and  the  whole  field,  as  far  as 
the  eye  could  reach,  was  strewed  with  arms  and  dead  bodies, 
and  the  intermediate  spaces  saturated  with  blood. 

Five  days  after  suffering  this  defeat,  Jugurtha's  confederate, 
King  Bocchus,  desires  Marius  to  send  him  two  trusted  ambas- 
sadors for  a  conference.  Sylla  is  one  of  the  two  sent.  With 
much  artful  preface,  this  adroit  Roman  diplomatist  told 
Bocchus  that  it  lay  in  his,  Bocchus's,  power  to  put  Rome 
under  real  obligation.  He  could  betray  Jugurtha  to  her. 
Bocchus  started  back.  Why,  there  was  the  kindred  tie, 
the  solemn  league,  between  himself  and  Jugurtha.  Besides, 
Jugurtha  was  beloved,  and  the  Romans  were  hated,  by  his, 
Bocchus's,  subjects.  Sylla  pressed,  and  Bocchus — yielded. 
An  ambush  was  laid,  and  the  father-in-law  delivered  up 
the  son-in-law  to  Sylla.  It  was  a  proud  feather  in  young 
Sylla's  cap.  But  it  was  before  the  chariot  wheels  of  Marius 
that,  afterwards,  Jugurtha,  with  his  two  sons,  was  driven 
in  triumph  at  Rome. 

Sallust's  history  stops  abruptly  with  Jugurtha's  capture. 
From  other  sources  we  learn  that  the  proud  captive  lost  his 
senses  under  the  dreadful  humiliation  of  the  triumph ;  also 
that  soon  after,  with  much  contumelious  violence,  he  was 


20  CLASSIC  LATIN  COURSE  IN  ENGLISH. 

flung  naked  into  the  chill  underground  dungeon  at  Rome 
called  the  Tullianum,  where  after  six  days  he  perished  of  cold 
and  starvation.  (One  authority  says  he  was  strangled.)  He 
is  said  to  have  exclaimed  shudderingly,  as  he  fell,  "Heavens,  a 
cold  bath  this  of  yours  ! " 

Jugurtha  is  painted  black  in  Sallust's  picture.  But  the 
artist  that  painted  him,  remember,  is  a  foe  and  a  Roman. 
Jugurtha  must  have  been,  indeed,  a  false  and  bloody  man. 
Still  he  had  followers  that  clave  to  him.  Nay,  Jugurtha  was 
to  all  Africans  the  most  beloved  of  men.  He  was  universally 
hailed  as  deliverer  of  the  nation  from  Rome.  His  name 
long  continued  a  spell  of  power  to  his  countrymen.  It  was 
twenty  years  after  his  death — and  already  his  kingdom  was  in 
large  part  a  province  of  Rome — when  a  son  of  his,  recognized 
in  the  force  opposed  to  the  Romans,  raised  such  sentiments 
In  the  breasts  of  a  Numidian  corps  attached  to  the  Roman 
army,  that  the  whole  body  had  to  be  immediately  sent 
home  to  Africa. 

Jugurtha's  bravery,  his  talent,  his  endurance,  redeem 
him  to  our  admiration,  as  do  his  misfortunes  to  our  sympathy. 
Supposing  Jugurtha  had  been  the  conqueror,  and  some  Nu- 
midian partisan  of  his,  instead  of  a  Roman  partisan  of 
Caesar's,  had  given  us  the  history ! 


CHAPTER  III. 

OVID. 

OVID  (Publius  Ovidius  Naso  is  the  full  Roman  name)  was 
born  in  Northern  Italy.  It  is  striking  how  few,  compara- 
tively, of  the  great  Roman  writers  were  natives  of  Rome. 
Ovid  came  of  a  good  family,  and  he  liked  to  have  this  known. 
"  In  my  family,"  he  says,  "  you  will  find  knights  up  through 
an  endless  line  of  ancestry."  He  was  born  just  when  the 
republic  died  ;  that  is,  he  and  the  imperial  order  came  twins 
into  the  world  together,  in  43  B.  C.  The  boy  was  a  natural 
versifier.  Like  Pope,  he  "  lisped  in  numbers,  for  the  numbers 
came."  His  youth  coincided  either  with  the  full  maturity 
or  with  the  declining  age  of  the  great  Augustan  writers, 
Virgil,  Livy,  Horace,  Sallust.  Unhappily  for  himself,  he  did 
not  come  under  the  sunshine  that  streamed  on  literature  and 
art  from  the  face  of  Augustus's  great  minister,  Mse-ce'nas. 
The  emperor  never  extended  his  favor  to  Ovid ;  and  in  the 
end,  as  our  readers  know,  the  poet  was  sent  into  exile. 

Ovid  was  a  man  of  loose  character,  and  his  looseness  of 
character  leaked  into  his  verse.  In  fact,  much  of  what  he 
wrote  is  now  unreadable  for  rank  impurity.  One  of  his  poems 
in  particular  scandalized  the  moral  sense  of  even  his  own  age 
and  became  the  ostensible  occasion  of  his  banishment.  His 
Metamorphoses  must  be  considered  his  chief  work.  The 
title  means,  literally,  changes  of  form.  Ovid's  idea  in  the 
poem  is  to  tell  in  his  own  way  such  legends  of  the  teeming 
Greek  mythology  as  deal  with  the  transformations  of  men  and 

21 


22  CLASSIC  LATIN  COURSE  IN  ENGLISH. 

women  into  animals,  plants,  or  inanimate  things.  The  invent- 
ive ingenuity  of  the  poet  is  displayed  in  connecting  these 
separate  stories  into  something  like  coherence  and  unity. 
This  poem  has  been  a  great  treasury  of  material  to  subsequent 
poets.  Even  Milton  has  condescended  to  be  not  a  little  in- 
debted to  Ovid  for  images  and  allusions,  which  he  dignified  by 
adopting  them,  with  noble  metamorphosis,  into  his  own 
loftier  verse. 

Our  one  specimen  of  Ovid's  Metamorphoses  shall  be  a  con- 
densation of  his  story  of  Pha'e-ton.  This  we  can  give  in  a 
version  which,  if  it  is  not  quite  so  closely  literal  as  would  be 
desirable,  is  excellent  art  of  its  kind,  and  is  at  any  rate,  a  classic 
too  in  English,  for  it  is  from  the  hand  of  Joseph  Addison. 

Our  readers  will  like,  by  way  of  introduction  to  our  exem- 
plification of  Ovid's  Metamorphoses,  to  see  what  the  poet  him- 
self— in  one  of  his  most  delightfully  buoyant  moods  surely  it 
must  have  been — thought  of  his  own  work  as  a  whole.  We 
give,  accordingly,  the  conclusion  of  the  Metamorphoses  in 
literal  prose  translation : 

And  now  I  have  completed  a  work,  which  neither  the  anger  of 
Jove,  nor  fire,  nor  steel,  nor  consuming  time  will  be  able  to  de- 
stroy !  Let  that  day,  which  has  no  power  but  over  this  body  of 
mine,  put  an  end  to  the  time  of  my  uncertain  life  when  it  will. 
Yet,  in  my  better  part,  I  shall  be  raised  immortal  above  the  lofty 
stars,  and  indelible  shall  be  my  name.  And  wherever  the  Roman 
power  is  extended  throughout  the  vanquished  earth,  I  shall  be 
read  by  the  lips  of  nations,  and  (if  the  presages  of  the  poets  have 
aught  of  truth)  throughout  all  ages  shall  I  survive  in  fame. 

There  is,  perhaps,  no  part  of  Ovid's  work  that  constitutes 
upon  the  whole  a  better  warrant  to  the  poet  for  his  cheerful 
anticipation  of  enduring  fame,  than  that  which  we  now  in 
specimen  present.  Phoabus  (Apollo)  is  god  of  the  sun.  He  is 
applied  to  by  his  not  universally  acknowledged  son,  Phaeton, 
with  a  startling  request.  We  omit  the  brilliant  opening 
which  describes  the  dazzling  palace  and  the  richly  dec- 
orated enthronement  of  the  god.  Phaeton  has  arrived  and 


OVID.  23 

presents  himself.    To  Phcebus's  gracious  welcome  of  his  son, 

"  Light  of  the  world,"  the  trembling  youth  replies, 
"  Illustrious  parent !  since  you  don't  despise 
The  parent's  name,  some  certain  token  give, 
That  I  may  Clymene's  proud  boast  believe, 
Nor  longer  under  false  reproaches  grieve." 

The  tender  sire  was  touched  with  what  he  said, 
And  flung  the  blaze  of  glories  from  his  head, 
And  bade  the  youth  advance.    "  My  son,"  said  he, 
"  Come  to  thy  father's  arms  I  for  Clymene 
Has  told  thee  true :  a  parent's  name  I  own, 
And  deem  thee  worthy  to  be  called  my  son. 
As  a  sure  proof  make  some  request,  and  I, 
Whate'er  it  be,  with  that  request  comply: 
By  Styx  I  swear,  wrhose  waves  are  hid  in  night, 
And  roll  impervious  to  my  piercing  sight." 

The  youth,  transported,  asks  without  delay 
To  guide  the  sun's  bright  chariot  for  a  day. 

Phoebus  is  distressed.  He  begs  Phaeton  to  reconsider  and 
choose  more  wisely  for  himself.  This  at  considerable  length 
and  with  much  poetical  eloquence.  But  Phaeton  was  not  to  be 
dissuaded,  and  the  reluctant  father  has  his  chariot  brought 
out.  Then  at  daybreak, 

He  bids  the  nimble  Hours,  without  delay, 
Bring  forth  the  steeds :  the  nimble  Hours  obey. 
From  their  full  racks  the  generous  steeds  retire, 
Dropping  ambrosial  foams,  and  snorting  fire. 
Still  anxious  for  his  son,  the  god  of  day, 
To  make  him  proof  against  the  burning  ray, 
His  temples  with  celestial  ointment  wet, 
Of  sovereign  virtue,  to  repel  the  heat ; 
Then  fixed  the  beamy  circle  on  his  head, 
And  fetched  a  deep  foreboding  sigh,  and  said : 
"  Take  this  at  least,  this  last  advice,  my  son : 
Keep  a  stiff  rein,  and  move  but  gently  on : 
The  coursers  of  themselves  will  run  too  fast ; 
Your  art  must  be  to  moderate  their  haste. 
Drive  them  not  on  directly  through  the  skies, 
But  where  the  zodiac's  winding  circle  lies, 
Along  the  midmost  zone ;  but  sally  forth, 
Nor  to  the  distant  south,  nor  stormy  north. 


24  CLASSIC  LATIN  COUKSB  IN  ENGLISH. 

The  horses'  hoofs  a  beaten  track  will  show ; 

But  neither  mount  too  high,  nor  sink  too  low. 

That  no  new  fires  or  heaven  or  earth  infest. 

Keep  the  mid  way ;  the  middle  way  is  best : 

Nor  where,  in  radiant  folds,  the  serpent  twines, 

Direct  your  course,  nor  where  the  altar  shines. 

Shun  both  extremes ;  the  rest  let  Fortune  guide, 

And  better  for  thee  than  thyself  provide !  " 

Meanwhile  the  restless  horses  neighed  aloud, 

Breathing  out  fire,  and  pawing  where  they  stood. 

Tethys,  not  knowing  what  had  passed,  gave  way, 

And  all  the  waste  of  heaven  before  them  lay. 

They  spring  together  out,  and  swiftly  bear 

The  flying  youth  through  clouds  and  yielding  air ; 

With  wingy  speed  outstrip  the  eastern  wind, 

And  leave  the  breezes  of  the  morn  behind. 

.The  youth  was  light,  nor  could  he  fill  the  seat, 

Or  poise  the  chariot  with  its  wonted  weight : 

But  as  at  sea  the  unballasted  vessel  rides, 

Cast  to  and  fro,  the  sport  of  winds  and  tides, 

So  in  the  bounding  chariot,  tossed  on  high, 

The  youth  is  hurried  headlong  through  the  sky. 

Soon  as  the  steeds  perceive  it,  they  forsake 

Their  stated  course,  and  leave  the  beaten  track. 

The  youth  was  in  a  maze,  nor  did  he  know 

"Which  way  to  turn  the  reins,  or  where  to  go : 

Nor  would  the  horses,  had  he  known,  obey. 

Then  the  seven  stars  first  felt  Apollo's  ray, 

And  wished  to  dip  in  the  forbidden  sea. 

The  folded  serpent,  next  the  frozen  pole, 

Stiff  and  benumbed  before,  began  to  roll, 

And  raged  with  inward  heat,  and  threatened  war, 

And  shot  a  redder  light  from  every  star ; 

Nay,  and  'tis  said,  Bootes,  too,  that  fain 

Thou  wouldst  have  fled,  though  cumbered  with  thy  wain. 

The  bewildered  charioteer  is  racked  with  emotions  which 
Ovid  feels  himself  at  leisure  enough  to  describe  with  great 
particularity.  Then  follows  a  very  detailed  account,  with 
many  geographical  names,  of  the  progressive  effects  of  that 
unguided  drive.  We  omit  and  resume  : 

The  astonished  youth,  where'er  his  eyes  could  turn, 
Beheld  the  universe  around  him  burn ; 


OVID.  25 

The  world  was  in  a  blaze ;  nor  could  he  bear 
The  sultry  vapors  and  the  scorching  air, 
Which  from  below,  as  from  a  furnace,  flowed : 
And  now  the  axletree  beneath  him  glowed. 
Lost  in  the  whirling  clouds  that  round  him  broke 
And  white  with  ashes,  hovering  in  the  smoke, 
He  flew  where'er  the  horses  drove,  nor  knew 
Whither  the  horses  drove  or  where  he  flew. 

'Twas  then,  they  say,  the  swarthy  Moor  begun 
To  change  his  hue,  and  blacken  in  the  sun ; 
Then  Libya  first,  of  all  her  moisture  drained, 
Became  a  barren  waste,  a  wild  of  sand ; 
The  water  nymphs  lament  their  empty  urns ; 
Boeotia,  robbed  of  silver  Dirce,  mourns, 
Corinth  Pyrene's  wasted  spring  bewails; 
And  Argos  grieves  while  Amymone  fails. 

The  floods  are  drained  from  every  distant  coast ; 

Ev'n  Tanais,  though  fixed  in  ice,  was  lost ; 

Enraged  Caicus  and  Lycormas  roar, 

And  Xanthus,  fated  to  be  burnt  once  more. 

The  famed  Mseander,  that  unwearied  strays 

Through  many  windings,  smokes  in  every  maze : 

From  his  loved  Babylon  Euphrates  flies : 

The  big-swollen  Ganges  and  the  Danube  rise 

In  thickening  fumes,  and  darken  half  the  skies : 

In  flames  Ismenos  and  the  Phasis  rolled, 

And  Tagus,  floating  in  his  melted  gold : 

The  swans,  that  on  Cayster  often  tried 

Their  tuneful  songs,  now  sung  their  last,  and  died. 

The  frighted  Nile  ran  off,  and  under  ground 

Concealed  his  head,  nor  can  it  yet  be  found ; 

His  seven  divided  currents  all  are  dry, 

And,  where  they  rolled,  seven  gaping  trenches  lie : 

No  more  the  Rhine  or  Rhone  their  course  maintain, 

Nor  Tiber,  of  his  promised  empire  vain. 

The  ground,  deep  cleft,  admits  the  dazzling  ray, 

And  startles  Pluto  with  the  flash  of  day : 

The  seas  shrink  in,  and  to  the  sight  disclose 

Wide  naked  plains,  where  once  their  billows  rose ; 

Their  rocks  are  all  discovered  and  increase 

The  number  of  the  scattered  Cyclades ; 

The  fish  in  shoals  about  the  bottom  creep ; 

Nor  longer  dares  the  crooked  dolphin  leap : 

Gasping  for  breath,  the  unshapen  Phocse  die, 


28  CLASSIC  LATIN  COURSE  IN  ENGLISH. 

And  on  the  boiling  wave  extended  lie : 
Nereus,  and  Doris,  with  her  virgin  train, 
Seek  out  the  last  recesses  of  the  main : 
Beneath  unfathomable  depths  they  faint, 
And  secret  in  their  gloomy  caverns  pant : 
Stern  Neptune  thrice  above  the  waves  upheld 
His  face,  and  thrice  was  by  the  flames  repelled. 
The  earth  at  length,  on  every  side  embraced 
With  scalding  seas,  that  floated  round  her  waist, 
When  now  she  felt  the  springs  and  rivers  come, 
And  crowd  within  the  hollow  of  her  womb, 
Uplifted  to  the  heavens  her  blasted  head, 
And  clapped  her  hand  upon  her  brows,  and  said 
(But  first,  impatient  of  the  sultry  heat, 
Sunk  deeper  down,  and  sought  a  cooler  seat) : 
"  If  you,  great  king  of  gods,  my  death  approve, 
And  I  deserve  it,  let  me  die  by  Jove : 
If  I  must  perish  by  the  force  of  fire, 
Let  me  transfixed  with  thunderbolts  expire." 


Jove  called  to  witness  every  power  above, 

And  even  the  god  whose  son  the  chariot  drove, 

That  what  he  acts  he  is  compelled  to  do, 

Or  universal  ruin  must  ensue. 

Straight  he  ascends  the  high  ethereal  throne, 

From  whence  he  used  to  dart  his  thunder  down, 

From  whence  his  showers  and  storms  he  used  to  pour, 

But  now  could  meet  with  neither  storm  or  shower : 

Then  aiming  at  the  youth,  with  lifted  hand, 

Full  at  his  head  he  hurled  the  forky  brand 

In  dreadful  thunderings.    Thus  the  almighty  sire 

Suppressed  the  raging  of  the  fires— with  fire. 

At  once  from  life  and  from  the  chariot  driven, 

The  ambitious  boy  fell  thunderstruck  from  heaven  ; 

The  horses  started  with  a  sudden  bound, 

And  flung  the  reins  and  chariot  to  the  ground : 

The  studded  harness  from  their  necks  they  broke, 

Here  fell  a  wheel,  and  here  a  silver  spoke, 

Here  were  the  beam  and  axle  torn  away, 

And  scattered  o'er  the  earth  the  shining  fragments  lay. 

The  breathless  Phaeton,  with  flaming  hair, 

Shot  from  the  chariot  like  a  falling  star, 

That  in  a  summer's  evening  from  the  top 

Of  heaven  drops  down,  or  seems,  at  least,  to  drop, 


OVID.  27 

Till  on  the  Po  his  blasted  corpse  was  hurled, 
Far  from  his  country,  in  the  western  world. 

A  "  long  bright  river  "  of  verse  it  is,  in  the  original,  and 
in  the  translation  as  well.  We  have  been  sorry  to  break 
the  current  with  omissions.  Nothing  essential,  however, 
is  lost.  One  simply  fails  to  receive  a  full  due  impression  of 
the  melodious  prolixity,  the  "linked  sweetness  long  drawn 
out,"  which  is  characteristic  of  Ovid. 

Some  monuments  of  architecture  there  are,  which,  besides 
being  composed  of  choice  stones  exquisitely  wrought,  are 
great  wholes  whose  aggregate  mass  and  proportion  impress 
you  with  an  effect  of  grandeur  or  beauty  infinitely  surpassing 
the  sum  of  the  effects  due  to  all  the  component  parts  taken  to- 
gether. Of  such  a  structure  a  few  stones  by  themselves  would 
give  a  very  inadequate  idea.  But  the  Metamorphoses  of 
Ovid  form  an  edifice  from  which  even  a  single  shapely  and 
polished  precious  block  brought  away  will  serve  to  suggest  all 
the  beauty  that  belongs  to  the  building.  You  have  merely 
to  say,  There  are  a  great  many  lovely  pieces  like  this.  You 
could  not  truly  say,  The  glory  of  the  whole  is  greater  than 
that  of  the  sum  of  all  the  parts. 

Ovid  had  predecessors  in  the  treatment  of  his  subject. 
To  these  predecessors  how  much  he  was  indebted,  we  have 
no  means  of  judging.  The  earlier  works  have  perished, 
and  no  critics  who  knew  them  have  transmitted  to  us  their 
estimate  of  Ovid's  obligation.  We  need  hardly  say  that 
Ovid's  forerunners  were  Greek. 

Of  Ovid  we  thus  now  take  leave  to  go  on  in  the  following 
chapter  with  an  author  who,  to  a  character  of  social  dilet- 
tanteism  in  which  he  might  have  rivaled  Ovid  himself,  joined 
a  character  of  stern  and  strenuous  practical  force,  for  affairs  of 
war  and  of  state,  in  which  he  scarcely  admitted  any  rival, 
ancient  or  modern — we  mean,  Julius  Csesar. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

CAESAR. 

THE  present  writer  himself  holds  a  more  moderate  view  in 
the  case,  but  there  is  with  many  judges,  presumptively  com- 
petent to  pronounce  opinion,  a  strong  disposition  to  accord  to 
Julius  Csesar  a  place  of  lonely  pre-eminence,  as,  upon  the 
whole,  in  amplitude  of  natural  endowment,  and  in  splendor 
of  historic  achievement,  perhaps  the  very  first  among  the 
sons  of  men. 

It  undoubtedly  requires  much  comprehensive  and  compara- 
tive knowledge  of  the  heroes  of  history,  to  appreciate  the 
large-molded,  many-sided  character  of  such  a  man  as  Csesar. 
Julius  Csesar  is  great  in  an  order  of  greatness  like  that,  for 
instance,  of  Mont  Blanc  or  of  Niagara  among  the  works 
of  nature  ;  of  St.  Peter's  or  of  the  Milan  Cathedral  among  the 
works  of  human  hands.  You  have  to  study  him  to  measure 
him.  You  have  to  put  other  great  men  alongside  of  him,  to 
perceive  how  he  dwarfs  them  by  the  contrast  of  his  easy  and 
symmetrical  magnitude. 

In  the  present  volume,  we  are  to  let  Csesar,  in  large  part, 
make  his  own  impression  of  himself  by  one  of  his  literary 
works.  This  work  is  the  account  which  he  wrote  of  his  cam- 
•  paigns  in  Gaul.  "  Commentaries  "  is  the  name  by  which  the 
account  is  technically  known.  The  word  "  commentaries  "  in 
this  title  is  not,  of  course,  to  be  understood  as  signifying 
remarks  in  criticism  and  explanation.  These  have  somewhat 
the  character  of  journals  of  camp  and  march  and  fight, 

28 


C-ESAB.  29 

They  are,  for  all  that,  much  admired  for  the  style  in  which 
they  are  written.  Clear,  straightforward,  simple,  manly 
records  they  are,  of  great  achievements,  hardly,  but  trium- 
phantly, performed.  Csesar  writes  constantly  in  the  third  per- 
son, never,  save  in  some  three  or  four,  perhaps  inadvertent, 
certainly  unimportant,  cases  of  exception,  in  the  first.  That 
is,  when  he  means  Caesar  he  says  "  Caesar,"  not  "I,"  or  "me." 

There  are  two  quite  different  ways  in  which  we  may  read 
Caesar's  Gallic  Commentaries.  Either  we  may  regard  them 
as  telling  the  story  of  the  thorough  and  masterful  manner  in 
which  he  accomplished  an  important  share  of  certain  serious 
work  that  it  fell  to  his  lot  to  do  for  Rome  and  for  the  world  ; 
or  we  may  regard  them  as  giving  an  account  of  a  piece  of  can- 
vassing, on  his  part,  for  place  and  power  in  the  Roman  state, 
canvassing  conceived  and  executed  on  a  scale  of  largeness  and 
enterprise  beyond  the  reach  of  any  but  the  most  magnificent 
political  as  well  as  military  genius.  But  whichever  of  these 
two  views  we  take,  it  still  remains  true  that  this  history  is 
vitally  related  to  the  whole  subsequent  history  of  mankind. 

We  might  in  reading  Caesar's  story,  seem  to  be  reading  only 
how  consummate  skill  and  discipline  in  war,  supported  by 
boundless  resources,  overwhelmed  brave,  but  helpless,  barbar- 
ism, with  the  irresistible  mass  and  weight  of  an  equally  brave, 
but  also  a  splendidly  equipped,  civilization.  But  let  us  correct 
our  very  natural  misconception  of  the  case.  The  truth  is,  the 
Gauls  were  by  no  means  a  wholly  uncivilized  people,  and  they 
were  a  really  formidable  foe  to  Rome.  For  good  reason,  Rome 
dreaded  them  with  immemorial  dread.  One  of  the  saddest 
and  most  shameful  of  the  early  traditions  of  Roman  history 
was  the  taking  and  sacking  of  the  city  by  Gauls.  A  vast, 
dense,  black  cloud  of  ever-threatened  irruption  hung,  growing, 
in  the  quarter  of  the  Roman  sky  toward  Gaul  and  Germany, 
ready  to  break  on  Italy  and  pour  a  flood  of  devastation  against 
Rome  that  should  even  sweep  the  city  from  the  face  of  the 


30  CLASSIC  LATIN  COURSE  IN  ENGLISH. 

globe.  Caesar's  bold  plan  was  to  open  the  cloud  and  disperse 
its  gathering  danger.  He  perhaps  saved  Europe  to  civilization 
and  to  Christianity.  Four  hundred  years  later,  the  barbarians 
pressed  again  against  the  barriers  of  the  Roman  empire.  This 
time  the  barriers  gave  way,  and  the  floods  came  in.  But 
meantime,  and  this  as  the  result  of  Caesar's  work,  Gaul 
itself,  indeed  all  Europe,  west  and  south,  with  Africa,  too,  had 
been  permanently  Romanized  ;  and  there  was  moreover  now  a 
Christian  church  prepared  to  welcome  the  inrushing  bar- 
barians to  her  bosom,  and  make  them,  retaining  much,  no 
doubt,  of  their  native  fierceness  still,  yet  strangely  gentle 
pupils  in  the  school  of  Christ.  Such,  whatever  may,  or 
may  not,  have  been  Caesar's  own  wisdom  and  will  in  his 
work,  was  the  providential  purpose  that  this  colossal  military 
and  political  genius  subserved. 

Caius  Julius  Caesar  was  of  an  ancient  patrician  family 
of  Rome,  who  claimed  derivation  from  lulus,  son  of  Trojan 
./Eneas.  He  was  politician  from  a  boy.  He  was  married  (or 
perhaps  only  betrothed)  early  enough  to  get  himself  divorced 
at  seventeen,  for  the  purpose  of  allying  himself  to  Cinna 
through  a  second  marriage  with  that  democratic  leader's 
daughter.  This  wife,  too,  the  aristocratic  dictator,  Sylla,  now 
omnipotent  at  Rome,  advised  young  Csesar  to  put  away. 
Caesar  had  the  spirit  to  refuse  compliance,  but  he  had  also  the 
prudence  to  flee  from  Rome  to  escape  the  dictator's  resent- 
ment. 

In  due  time,  the  tide  of  Roman  public  sentiment  turned 
strongly  in  favor  of  the  people  and  against  the  aristocracy. 
Into  this  powerful  movement,  Caesar  threw  himself  and  his  for- 
tunes. He  went  rapidly  through  a  succession  of  public  offices: 
as  quaestor,  bidding  for  popularity  by  pronouncing  a  eulogy  on 
his  aunt  Julia,  wife  of  the  redoubtable  democrat  Marius  ; 
as  sedile,  still  further  courting  the  favor  of  the  common  people 
by  entertainments  provided  on  a  scale  of  unmatched  magnifi- 


CLESAR.  31 

cence,  and  of  course  at  correspondingly  enormous  expense. 
The  result  was  to  plunge  him  millions  on  millions  of  dollars 
in  debt.  Now  occurred  the  conspiracy  of  Catiline,  in  which 
Caesar  himself  was  implicated,  in  the  suspicion  of  some.  The 
mere  existence  of  the  suspicion  tends  to  show  how  active  and 
how  unscrupulous  in  politics  Caesar  was  held  to  be.  Momm- 
sen,  the  German  historian  of  Home,  a  warm  eulogist  of 
Caesar,  holds  it  for  tolerably  certain  that  his  hero  was  in  fact  a 
fellow-conspirator  with  Catiline  ;  nor  does  he  on  that  account 
(or  on  any  other  account)  at  all  abate  the  great  man's  praise. 

Caesar  wanted  to  be  pontifex  maximus,  that  is,  chief  priest 
of  the  Roman  religion.  He  was  a  thorough-paced  skeptic, 
and  his  aim  in  this  matter  was  worldly-minded  in  the  ex- 
treme: he  needed  the  office  as  a  refuge  from  his  creditors. 
Without  it  he  would  have  to  flee  from  Rome.  He  was 
triumphantly  elected.  The  next  year  saw  him  praetor.  At 
the  close  of  the  year's  prsetorship,  he  was,  in  due  course  of 
Roman  custom,  given  a  province  to  squeeze.  Spain  was  his 
lot.  From  Spain,  at  the  end  of  his  term  of  office  in  that 
province,  this  masterful  spirit  hastened  back  to  Rome  to  run 
for  the  consulship.  The  consulship  was  the  top  round  in  the 
ladder  of  Roman  political  ambition.  Caesar  saw  all  things 
possible  to  himself  once  chosen  consul.  He  was  chosen. 
Csesar's  consulship,  in  its  bearing  on  his  own  personal  for- 
tunes, was  an  overflowing  success.  Caesar's  consulship  ex- 
pired, he  went  to  Gaul  as  proconsul.  It  was  as  proconsul 
in  Gaul  that  he  did  the  memorable  things  of  which  we  are 
now  to  study  in  specimen  his  own  masterly  account. 

Caesar's  Gallic  Commentaries  are  divided  into  eight  books. 
Each  book  recounts  the  events  and  incidents,  these  and  no 
more,  of  one  campaign,  covering  a  military  year  of  time. 
The  first  book,  after  a  bit  of  geography  to  begin  with, 
occupies  itself  with  two  series  of  military  operations  on 
Csesar's  part,  one  directed  against  the  Helvetians  (Swiss),  and 


32  CLASSIC  LATIN  COURSE  IN  ENGLISH. 

one  against  a  body  of  Germans  who  had  invaded  Gaul.  Of 
these  two  military  movements,  that  against  the  Helvetians 
resulted  in  the  death  or  reduction  to  slavery  of  a  quarter  of 
a  million  of  souls — men,  women,  and  children  ;  for  Caesar  fell 
upon  the  Helvetians  engaged  in  the  act  of  a  national 
migration  to  other  places  of  abode.  It  is  a  ghastly  modern 
commentary  on  this  achievement  of  Caesar's  that  excavations 
made  under  the  munificent  auspices  of  Napoleon  III.,  un- 
covered, in  some  of  the  localities  identified  as  scenes  of  Csesar's 
Gallic  slaughters,  vast  deposits  of  human  remains,  in  which 
could  be  distinguished  the  skeletons  of  men,  women,  and 
children. 

So  ended  the  Helvetian  war — war,  to  indulge  Caesar  in 
his  own  non-descriptive  word.  The  future  dictator  had  begun 
prosperously  in  Gaul.  Already  he  had  made  up  his  score  to 
one  quarter  of  the  full  million  of  human  lives  that  he  must 
take  in  Gaul,  to  prepare  himself  for  by  and  by  crossing  the 
Rubicon,  on  his  way  to  empire  and  to  bloody  death. 

The  crowded  first  Gallic  campaign  of  Caesar  is  to  be  closed 
with  a  series  of  operations  better  deserving,  than  did  the 
slaughter  of  the  pilgrim  Helvetians,  to  be  styled  a  war.  A 
certain  Ar/i-o-vis/tus,  German  prince  and  conqueror,  invoked 
at  first  as  ally  by  one  of  the  Gallic  tribes  at  war  among  them- 
selves, has  turned  intolerable  oppressor  and  usurper,  menacing 
especially  the  prosperity  and  power  of  the  JEduans,  who  were 
allies  of  the  Romans.  Caesar  of  course  interferes,  and,  to  sum 
up  all  in  a  word,  annihilates  the  army  of  Ariovistus.  Of  the 
fugitive  Germans,  a  few  escaped,  among  them,  their  leader. 
All  the  rest,  dryly  observes  Caesar,  "our  cavalry  slew."  But 
the  historian  meantime  has  made  an  interesting  note  of  the 
German  military  method,  which  we  may  show  in  the  writer's 
own  words : 

They  had  about  six  thousand  horse,  who  chose  a  like  number  out 
of  the  foot,  each  his  man,  and  all  remarkable  for  strength  and 


CLESAK.  33 

agility.  These  continually  accompanied  them  in  battle,  and 
served  them  as  a  rear  guard,  to  which,  when  hard  pressed,  they 
might  retire ;  if  the  action  became  dangerous,  they  advanced  to 
their  relief ;  if  any  horseman  was  considerably  wounded  and  fell 
from  his  horse,  they  gathered  round  to  defend  him ;  if  speed  was 
required,  either  for  a  hasty  pursuit  or  sudden  retreat,  they  were 
become  so  nimble  and  alert  by  continual  exercise,  that,  laying 
hold  of  the  manes  of  their  horses,  they  could  run  as  fast  as  they. 

In  his  grand  way,  Caesar  closes  the  first  book  of  his  Com- 
mentaries as  follows : 

Caesar,  having  in  one  campaign  put  an  end  to  two  very  consider- 
able wars,  went  into  winter  quarters  somewhat  sooner  than  the 
season  of  the  year  required.  He  distributed  his  army  among  the 
Seq'uani,  left  Labienus  to  command  in  his  absence,  and  set  out 
himself  for  Cisalpine  Gaul  (Northern  Italy)  to  preside  in  the 
assembly  of  the  states. 

Caesar's  winter  in  Northern  Italy  is  disturbed,  perhaps  not 
disagreeably  to  himself,  by  reports  brought  to  him  that  the 
Belgians  are  "conspiring"  against  the  Roman  people.  But 
the  Remi  are,  like  the  ^Eduans,  after  Caesar's  own  heart.  He 
gets  the  following  statistics  of  numbers  from  these  forward  in- 
formants— we  give  them  in  Caesar's  own  summary  : 

He  found  the  Sues-si-o'nes  had  within  their  territories  twelve 
fortified  towns,  and  promised  to  bring  into  the  field  fifty  thousand 
men :  the  like  number  had  been  stipulated  by  the  Nervians,  who, 
inhabiting  the  remotest  provinces  of  Gaul,  were  esteemed  the  most 
fierce  and  warlike  of  all  the  Belgian  nations:  that  the  At're-ba'- 
tians  were  to  furnish  fifteen  thousand,  the  Am'bi-a'ni  ten  thou- 
sand, the  Mor'i-ni  twenty-five  thousand,  the  Men-a'pians  nine 
thousand,  the  Cal'e-tes  ten  thousand,  the  Vel'o-cas'sians  and  Ver'o- 
man'duans  the  like  number ;  the  At'u-at'i-ci  twenty-nine  thou- 
sand; and  the  Con-dru'sians,  Eb'u-ro'nes,  Cse-roa'sians,  and  Pae- 
ma'ni,  all  comprehended  under  the  common  name  of  Germans, 
forty  thousand. 

The  battle  that  soon  was  pitched  between  the  Romans  and 
the  Belgians  had  its  vicissitudes,  but  there  was  a  foregone  con- 
clusion of  them  all.  The  Belgians,  worsted,  resolved  on  re- 
turning to  their  respective  homes.  They  broke  up  their  camp 
in  the  night.  The  noise  was  like  that  of  a  rout.  At  daybreak, 
Caesar  started  in  pursuit. 


34  CLASSIC  LATIN  COURSE  IN  ENGLISH. 

All  day  long  the  Roman  dogs  of  war  fed  on  the  helpless 
Belgians  as  if  they  had  been  sheep.  Read  Caesar's  business- 
like statement,  and  consider  that  it  is  of  hunted  men,  not  of 
beasts,  that  he  is  speaking  : 

Thus,  without  any  risk  to  themselves,  our  men  killed  as  great  a 
number  of  them  as  the  length  of  the  day  allowed. 

This  was  not  cruelty  ;  it  was  simply  cold  blood.  Cold  blood 
was  Caesar's  strength,  and  Rome's.  Caesar  was  Rome. 

Caesar's  struggle  with  the  Nervii  was  one  of  the  sharpest 
crises  that  he  encountered  in  the  whole  course  of  his  Gallic 
experience.  His  report  of  their  national  character  is  interest- 
ing. He  says : 

That  they  suffered  no  resort  of  merchants  into  their  cities,  nor 
would  allow  of  the  importation  of  wine  or  other  commodities 
tending  to  luxury ;  as  imagining  that  thereby  the  minds  of  men 
were  enfeebled,  and  their  martial  fire  and  courage  extinguished ; 
that  they  were  men  of  a  warlike  spirit,  but  altogether  unacquainted 
with  the  refinements  of  life ;  that  they  continually  inveighed 
against  the  rest  of  the  Belgians  for  ignominiously  submitting  to 
the  Roman  yoke  and  abandoning  the  steady  bravery  of  their 
ancestors.  In  fine,  that  they  had  openly  declared  their  resolution 
of  neither  sending  ambassadors  to  Caesar,  nor  accepting  any  terms 
of  peace. 

The  Nervians  were  beforehand  with  the  Romans  in  attack- 
ing. In  truth,  this  time  the  Romans  were  taken  by  surprise. 
They  had  not  a  moment  to  put  themselves  in  proper  order  of 
battle.  Nay,  the  men  could  not  even  arm  themselves  as 
usual.  It  was  not  so  much  one  battle,  as  it  was  a  confusion  of 
separate  battles,  that  ensued.  Caesar  for  once  found  himself 
in  imminent  peril.  His  officers  were  slain  or  disabled.  He 
had  himself  to  hasten  from  point  to  point  as  he  could.  There 
was  one  moment  when  all  seemed  to  be  over  with  him  and  his 
army.  A  body  of  his  own  auxiliary  horse  actually  fled  head- 
long home  bearing  that  news  to  their  countrymen. 

But  Caesar  was  the  man  for  emergencies.  He  soon  made  it 
the  turn  of  the  Nervii  to  be  dismayed.  Dismayed,  however, 


C^ESAK.  35 

as  they  might  be,  they  fought  with  desperate  valor.  When  a 
soldier  among  them  fell,  his  comrade  behind  advancing  would 
stand  on  the  corpse  and  thence  continue  to  fight.  He  falling 
in  turn,  and  another,  and  another,  still  the  indomitable 
Nervii  would  only  make  mounds  of  their  slain  from  which  to 
discharge  their  weapons  on  the  foe.  There  was  no  flight,  no 
surrender,  no  giving  way.  The  Nervii  fought  till  they  died. 
But  they  died  almost  to  a  man.  The  nation  and  the  name 
were  well-nigh  annihilated. 

It  is  time  our  readers  had  another  taste  of  Csesar's  own 
quality  in  narration.  We  give  his  account  of  his  transactions, 
in  arms  and  in  diplomacy,  with  the  Atuatici,  a  tribe  of  Ner- 
vian  allies.  This  tribe  had  been  coming  up  to  assist  the 
Nervii.  On  their  way,  they  heard  of  the  battle  just  described, 
and  turned  back.  They  threw  themselves  into  a  town  of 
theirs,  which  Caesar  proceeded  to  attack. 

Csesar  says : 

When  we  had  now  finished  our  approaches,  cast  up  a  mount,  and 
were  preparing  a  tower  of  assault  behind  the  works,  they  began  at 
first  to  deride  us  from  the  battlements,  and  in  reproachful  lan- 
guage ask  the  meaning  of  that  prodigious  engine  raised  at  such  a 
distance !  With  what  hands  or  strength,  men  of  our  size  and  make 
(for  the  Gauls,  who  are  for  the  most  part  very  tall,  despise  the 
small  stature  of  the  Romans),  could  hope  to  bring  forward  so 
unwieldy  a  machine  against  their  walls  ? 

But  when  they  saw  it  removed  and  approaching  near  the 
town,  astonished  at  the  new  and  unusual  appearance,  they  sent 
ambassadors  to  Csesar  to  sue  for  peace.  These  being  accordingly 
introduced,  told  him:  "That  they  doubted  not  but  the  Romans 
were  aided  in  their  wars  by  the  gods  themselves,  it  seeming  to 
them  a  more  than  human  task  to  transport  with  such  facility  an 
engine  of  that  amazing  height,  by  which  they  were  brought  upon  a 
level  with  their  enemies,  and  enabled  to  engage  them  in  close 
fight.  That  they  therefore  put  themselves  and  their  fortunes 
into  his  hands,  requesting  only,  that  if  his  clemency  and  goodness, 
of  which  they  had  heard  so  much  from  others,  had  determined 
him  to  spare  the  Atuatici  [ Aduatuci]  he  would  not  deprive  them  of 
their  arms."  .  .  .  To  this  Csesar  replied :  "  That  no  surrender 
would  be  accepted  unless  they  agreed  to  deliver  up  their 


36  CLASSIC  LATIN  COURSE  IN  ENGLISH. 

arms."  .  .  .  They  accepted  in  appearance  the  conditions 
offered  them  by  Caesar,  and  threw  so  vast  a  quantity  of  arms 
into  the  ditch  before  the  town,  that  the  heap  almost  reached  to  the 
top  of  the  wall.  Nevertheless,  as  was  afterwards  known,  they 
retained  about  a  third  part  and  concealed  them  privately  within 
the  town.  The  gates  being  thrown  open,  they  enjoyed  peace 
for  the  remaining  part  of  that  day. 

In  the  evening,  Caesar  ordered  the  gates  to  be  shut,  and  the 
soldiers  to  quit  the  town,  that  no  injury  might  be  offered  to  the  in- 
habitants during  the  night.  Whereupon,  the  Atuatici,  in  conse- 
quence of  a  design  they  had  before  concerted,  imagining  that 
the  Romans,  after  a  surrender  of  the  place,  would  either  set  no 
guard  at  all  or  at  least  keep  watch  with  less  precaution ;  partly 
arming  themselves  with  such  weapons  as  they  had  privately  re- 
tained, partly  with  targets  made  of  bark  or  wicker,  and  covered 
over  hastily  with  hides,  made  a  furious  sally  about  midnight  with 
all  their  forces  and  charged  our  works  on  that  side  where  they 
seemed  to  be  of  easiest  access. 

The  alarm  being  immediately  given  by  lighting  fires,  as  Csesar 
before  commanded,  the  soldiers  ran  to  the  attack  from  the  neigh- 
boring forts.  A  very  sharp  conflict  ensued,  for  the  enemy,  now 
driven  to  despair,  and  having  no  hope  but  in  their  valor,  fought 
with  all  possible  bravery,  though  the  Romans  had  the  advantage  of 
the  ground,  and  poured  their  javelins  upon  them  both  from  the 
towers  and  the  top  of  the  rampart.  About  four  thousand  were 
slain  upon  the  spot  and  the  rest  obliged  to  retire  into  the  town. 
Next  day  the  gates  were  forced,  no  one  offering  to  make  the 
least  resistance,  and,  the  army  having  taken  possession  of  the 
place,  the  inhabitants,  to  the  number  of  fifty-three  thousand,  were 
sold  for  slaves. 

What  sum  of  money  the  sale  of  these  people  brought  Csesar, 
he  does  not  descend  enough  into  particulars  to  name.  Num- 
bers of  speculators  from  Rome  were  110  doubt  in  attendance  on 
the  progress  of  conquests  so  important  as  these  of  Csesar  in 
Gaul.  The  bidding,  we  may  presume,  was  spirited,  and 
the  prices  realized  were  probably  satisfactory.  How  cold- 
blooded it  all  seems  !  What  a  different  spirit  Christianity  has 
infused  even  into  business  so  unchristian  as  war ! 

Csesar,  having  quartered  his  legions  for  the  winter  near 
the  scene  of  their  recent  exploits,  repairs  himself,  as  in  the 
year  previous,  to  Italy.  And  so  ends  book  second. 


O-ESAR.  37 

The  third  book,  as  dealing  with  transactions  of  less  magni- 
tude than  those  already  narrated,  we  may  somewhat  sum- 
marily dismiss.  It  seems  to  be  dedicated,  in  large  measure,  to 
a  skillfully  conducted  laudation  of  young  Crassus,  son  of 
Csesar's  wealthy  political  partner.  One  can  hardly  help 
suspecting  Caesar's  object  to  have  been  in  part  a  thrifty  one, 
that  of  giving  pleasure  to  the  father,  for  the  sake  of  the  benefit 
that  might  thence  accrue  to  himself.  Young  Crassus  was 
a  lieutenant  of  the  great  commander. 

Three  things  especially,  in  the  fourth  book  of  Csesar's 
Commentaries,  are  of  commanding  interest.  The  first  is  the 
case  of  alleged  perfidy,  with  enormous  undoubted  cruelty, 
practiced  by  Csesar  against  his  German  enemies.  The  second 
is  Csesar's  famous  feat  in  throwing  a  bridge  across  the  river 
Rhine.  The  third  is  his  invasion  of  Great  Britain. 

Far  northward  toward  the  mouth  of  that  river,  two  more 
tribes  of  Germans  had  just  crossed  the  Rhine.  Men,  women, 
and  children,  they  reached  the  number  of  near  half  a  million. 
This  immense  migration  could  not  be  permitted.  Caesar 
marched  against  the  Germans. 

As  he  came  near,  ambassadors  from  the  Germans  met 
him,  desiring  terms  of  peace.  But  Csesar  would  make  no 
terms  with  the  Germans,  as  long  as  they  remained  in  Gaul. 
There  was  no  land  there  to  be  given  away.  However,  if 
they  liked  to  do  so,  they  might  settle  among  the  TJ'-bi-i. 

The  German  ambassadors  were  at  a  stand.  They  would 
carry  back  Csesar's  reply.  But  would  Csesar  stay  where 
he  then  was,  and  give  them  a  day  or  two  in  which  to  go 
and  return  ?  (The  two  armies  were  still  some  days'  march 
apart.)  Csesar  would  not  consent.  He  assumed  that  what  the 
Germans  wanted  was  to  gain  time  for  recalling  their  cavalry 
from  a  distant  foraging  expedition. 

The  Roman  army,  which  the  Germans  could  no  more  stop 
by  entreating,  than  by  entreating  they  could  have  stopped  the 


38  CLASSIC  LATIN  COURSE  IN   ENGLISH. 

circuit  of  the  earth  about  the  sun,  had  now  come  to  within 
twelve  miles  of  the  enemy,  when  the  German  ambassadors  re- 
turned to  Caesar.  They  begged  Csesar  to  halt.  The  earth 
kept  moving  and — so  did  Csesar.  "  Pray,  then,"  besought  the 
ambassadors,  "  pray  at  least  send  orders  in  advance  to  the  Ro- 
man vanguard  not  to  engage  in  battle ;  and  permit  us  mean- 
time to  send  ambassadors  to  the  Ubii.  If  the  Ubii  will 
engage  under  oath  with  us,  we  will  do  anything  you  say. 
But  let  us  have  a  day  or  two  in  which  to  negotiate." 

Csesar  avers  he  was  still  suspicious  of  the  Germans.  How- 
ever, he  told  them  he  should  not  advance  more  than  four 
miles  that  day,  this  for  the  sake  of  finding  water.  Let  the 
Germans  come  to  him  at  that  point  in  good  numbers  (the 
proviso,  in  "good  numbers"  seems  significant — was  Caesar's 
perfidious  purpose  already  in  his  mind?)  and  he  would  talk 
with  them.  Meanwhile  Caesar  sent  orders  to  his  vanguard 
not  to  fight  unless  attacked. 

Now  occurs  an  incident  which  it  is  very  difficult  to  under- 
stand. Caesar  says  that  as  soon  as  the  enemy  got  sight  of  the 
Roman  horse,  five  thousand  strong,  the  German  horse,  only 
eight  hundred  strong,  fell  upon  these  and  threw  them  into 
disorder.  The  Roman  cavalry  thereupon  making  a  stand,  the 
Germans  leaped  from  their  steeds,  stabbed  Caesar's  horses 
in  the  belly,  and,  overthrowing  many  of  his  soldiers,  put  the 
rest  to  flight.  For  the  first  time  in  his  history,  Csesar  tells  the 
number  of  his  fallen.  There  were  seventy-five,  among  them 
an  illustrious  Aquitanian,  sacred  from  having  had  a  grand- 
father who  was  once  styled  "  friend  "  by  the  Roman  senate. 

What  follows  in  Csesar's  narrative  is  so  grave  in  its  illus- 
trative bearing  upon  Caesar's  character,  that  we  are  going 
to  satisfy  the  just  curiosity  of  our  readers  by  letting  them 
see  exactly  how  the  writer  states  the  business  for  himself. 
Here,  then,  are  Caesar's  own  words,  in  sufficiently  strict 
translation : 


C^SAB.  39 

After  this  battle,  Caesar  resolved  neither  to  give  audience  to  their 
ambassadors  nor  admit  them  to  terms  of  peace,  seeing  they  had 
treacherously  applied  for  a  truce,  and  afterwards  of  their  own 
accord  broken  it.  He  likewise  considered  that  it  would  bo 
downright  madness  to  delay  coming  to  an  action  until  their 
army  should  be  augmented  and  their  cavalry  join  them ;  and 
the  more  so,  because  he  was  perfectly  well  acquainted  with  the 
levity  of  the  Gauls,  among  whom  they  had  already  acquired  a  con- 
siderable reputation  by  this  successful  attack,  and  to  whom  it 
therefore  behooved  him  by  no  means  to  allow  time  to  enter 
into  measures  against  him.  Upon  all  these  accounts  he  de- 
termined to  come  to  an  engagement  with  the  enemy  as  soon  as 
possible,  and  communicated  his  design  to  his  quaestor  and 
lieutenants.  A  very  lucky  accident  fell  out  to  bring  about  Caesar's 
purpose,  for  the  day  after,  in  the  morning,  the  Germans  persisting 
in  their  treachery  and  dissimulation,  came  in  great  numbers  to  the 
camp :  all  their  nobility  and  princes  making  part  of  their  embassy. 
Their  design  was,  as  they  pretended,  to  vindicate  themselves  in  re- 
gard to  what  had  happened  the  day  before ;  because,  contrary  to 
engagements  made  and  come  under  at  their  own  request,  they  had 
fallen  upon  our  men;  but  their  real  motive  was  to  obtain  if 
possible  another  insidious  truce.  Caesar,  overjoyed  to  have  them 
thus  in  his  power,  ordered  them  to  be  secured  and  immediately 
drew  his  forces  out  of  the  camp.  The  cavalry,  whom  he  supposed 
terrified  with  the  late  engagement,  were  commanded  to  follow 
in  the  rear. 

Having  drawn  up  his  army  in  three  lines  and  made  a  very  expe- 
ditious march  of  eight  miles,  he  appeared  before  the  enemy's  camp 
before  they  had  the  least  apprehension  of  his  design.  All  things 
conspiring  to  throw  them  into  a  sudden  consternation,  which  was 
not  a  little  increased  by  our  unexpected  appearance,  and  the 
absence  of  their  own  officers ;  and,  hardly  any  time  left  them  either 
to  take  counsel  or  fly  to  arms,  they  were  utterly  at  a  loss  what 
course  to  take,  whether  to  draw  out  their  forces  and  oppose  the 
enemy  or  content  themselves  with  defending  the  camp  or,  in  fine, 
to  seek  for  safety  in  flight.  As  this  fear  was  evident  from  the 
tumult  and  uproar  we  perceived  among  them,  our  soldiers,  in- 
stigated by  the  remembrance  of  their  treacherous  behavior  the  day 
before,  broke  into  the  camp.  Such  as  could  first  provide  them- 
selves with  arms  made  a  show  of  resistance  and  for  some  time 
maintained  the  fight  amidst  the  baggage  and  carriages.  But  the 
women  and  children  (for  the  Germans  had  brought  all  their 
families  and  effects  with  them  over  the  Rhine)  betook  themselves 
to  flight  on  all  sides.  Caesar  sent  the  cavalry  in  pursuit  of  them. 

The  Germans,  hearing  the  noise  behind  them,  and  seeing  their 


40  CLASSIC  LATIN  COURSE  IN  ENGLISH. 

wives  and  children  put  to  the  sword,  threw  down  their  arms, 
abandoned  their  ensigns,  and  fled  out  of  the  camp.  Being  arrived 
at  the  confluence  of  the  Rhine  and  the  Meuse,  and  finding  it 
impossible  to  continue  their  flight  any  farther;  after  a  dreadful 
slaughter  of  those  that  pretended  to  make  resistance,  the  rest 
threw  themselves  into  the  river ;  where,  what  with  fear,  weariness, 
and  the  force  of  the  current,  they  almost  all  perished.  Thus 
our  army,  without  the  loss  of  a  man,  and  with  very  few  wounded, 
returned  to  their  camp,  having  put  an  end  to  this  formidable  war 
in  which  the  number  of  the  enemy  amounted  to  four  hundred  and 
thirty  thousand.  Caesar  offered  those  whom  he  had  detained  in 
his  camp  liberty  to  depart ;  but  they,  dreading  the  resentment  of 
the  Gauls,  whose  lands  they  had  laid  waste,  chose  rather  to  remain 
with  him,  and  obtained  his  consent  for  that  purpose. 

Caesar  had  effectually  dispelled  the  present  danger.  While 
the  terror  and  horror  of  such  an  atrocity  were  still  benumbing 
men's  minds,  he  could  safely  display  his  skill  and  his  daring 
in  a  feat  well  calculated  to  impress  barbarian  sensibilities  with 
a  useful  idea  of  Roman  power.  He  would  do  what  no  Roman 
had  ever  yet  done,  he  would  bridge  the  Rhine  and  cross  it.  It 
was  to  be  barren  demonstration,  so  far  as  anything  beyond 
impression  on  the  imagination  was  concerned.  For  he  would 
recross  almost  immediately.  "Avidity  of  famer"  Plutarch 
attributes  as  Caesar's  motive,  in  this  action  of  his.  He  wished 
to  be  the  first  Roman  to  put  his  head  in  the  lion's  mouth 
by  invading  Germany.  He  crossed  and  he  recrossed  the 
Rhine,  and  he  had  his  reward. 

Caesar's  bridge  was  fourteen  hundred  feet  long,  furnishing 
a  solid  roadway  thirty  or  forty  feet  wide,  all  finished  promptly 
enough  to  have  the  whole  army  got  in  safety  across — at 
least  with  no  casualty  reported — within  ten  days  from  the 
time  when  the  first  blow  of  a  Roman  ax  startled  those 
distant  forests.  Just  where  it  was  situated,  is  a  matter  of 
much  dispute — some  say  at  Cologne  and  some  say  at  Bonn. 

Caesar  now  turns  his  attention  to  another  enterprise,  that  of 
invading  Great  Britain.  In  due  time  a  flotilla  is  ready,  and  a 
few  hours'  sail  brings  Caesar  to  the  British  coast.  The  cliffs 


CJESAK.  41 

are  alive  with  islanders,  prepared  to  receive  their  visitor  with 
warlike  welcome. 

The  Britons  are  alert,  and  they  dash  along  the  coast,  with 
horsemen  and  with  chariots  of  war,  to  meet  the  invasion 
where  it  threatened.  The  Komans  have  a  sad  time  of  it  get- 
ting ashore.  Csesar  notes  it  that  his  soldiers  seemed  not  to 
take  their  chance  of  floundering  through  the  shoal  water 
to  land,  with  anything  like  their  wonted  appetite  for  fighting 
on  dry  ground.  There  occurred  a  little  incident  which  Csesar, 
with  a  for  him  quite  unusual  condescension  to  dramatic  repre- 
sentation, relates  in  what  grammarians  call  (oratio  recta) 
direct  discourse.  Our  readers  must  have  this  rare  specimen  of 
Csesar  in  the  lively  mood,  without  change — except  the  neces- 
sary change  of  literal  translation  from  Latin  into  English  : 

While  our  men  were  hesitating  chiefly  on  account  of  the  depth 
of  the  sea,  he  who  carried  the  eagle  of  the  tenth  legion,  after 
supplicating  the  gods,  that  the  matter  might  turn  out  favorably 
to  the  legion,  exclaimed,  "Leap,  fellow-soldiers,  unless  you  wish 
to  betray  your  eagle  to  the  enemy.  I,  for  my  part,  will  perform 
my  duty  to  the  commonwealth  and  my  general."  When  he  had 
said  this  with  a  loud  voice,  he  leaped  from  the  ship  and  proceeded 
to  bear  the  eagle  toward  the  enemy.  Then  our  men,  exhorting  one 
another  that  so  great  a  disgrace  should  not  be  incurred,  all  leaped 
from  the  ship.  When  those  in  the  nearest  vessels  saw  them,  they 
speedily  followed  and  approached  the  enemy. 

We  hardly  need  follow  with  further  detail  the  incidents  of 
this  British  adventure  of  Csesar.  The  historian  tries  to  give 
the  affair  something  like  historic  dignity.  The  truth,  how- 
ever, is  that  Caesar's  first  visit  to  Great  Britain  was  by  no 
means  a  very  glorious  thing.  Csesar  in  fact  did  well  that 
he  got  off  from  Great  Britain  at  all.  But  he  had  a  thanks- 
giving of  twenty  days  decreed  to  him  for  the  success  of  the 
campaign  as  a  whole. 

The  fifth  book  is  mainly  a  record  of  disaster  to  Caesar's 
arms,  disaster  retrieved,  but  barely  retrieved,  from  being  irrep- 
arable disaster.  There  is  an  episode  to  begin  with — the 


42  CLASSIC  LATIN  COURSE  IN  ENGLISH. 

episode  of  a  second  and  last  expedition,  on  Caesar's  part,  to 
Great  Britain.  Without  much  more  effort,  that  is  permitted 
to  appear  in  his  story,  than  the  mere  word  of  command 
from  his  mouth,  Caesar  gets  together  a  fleet  of  some  eight 
hundred  sail  all  told — there  are  reckoned  into  this  total  a 
number  of  private  bottoms,  probably  ventures  in  merchant 
speculation — and  with  this  numerically  formidable  armada  he 
reaches  the  coast  of  Great  Britain. 

Having  landed  and  encamped,  he  encounters  once  more 
a  former  enemy  of  his — a  British  storm.  His  ships  are  badly 
shattered.  But  what  can  withstand  Caesar?  He  speaks  a 
word,  and  his  ships  are  tugged  and  lugged  with  main  strength 
on  shore,  and  there  fortified  within  the  same  lines  as  his 
camp.  This  operation  took  about  ten  days  and  nights,  for  the 
men  worked  continuously — in  relays,  let  us  trust — all  the 
twenty-four  hours  through. 

Of  attack  and  repulse,  of  retreat  and  pursuit,  of  slaughter 
and  capture,  of  embassy  and  reply,  of  surrender  proposed  and 
hostages  demanded,  of  all  the  vicissitudes  of  this  wanton  and 
gratuitous  war,  the  upshot  is  that  Caesar  gets  off  at  last  in 
safety,  and,  as  he  represents  it,  even  in  a  certain  barren  and 
ambiguous  triumph.  The  account  closes  with  a  passage  worth 
our  quoting.  Caesar  covers  the  emptiness  of  his  military 
performance  in  Britain  with  a  rhetorical  flourish  about  his 
own  good  fortune.  This  is  a  topic  on  which  he  never  tires 
of  enlarging.  It  is  not  mere  curiosity  on  his  own  part  that 
prompts  the  treatment  of  this  topic,  nor  is  it  a  good-natured 
wish  to  gratify  the  curiosity  of  his  readers.  It  is  a  motive 
of  thrift.  Prosperity  prospers.  Caesar  wants  everybody  to 
understand  that  Caesar  is  prosperous.  Here,  then,  is  the  pass- 
age in  which  Caesar  thinks  it  comportable  with  his  dignity 
to  dismiss  the  story  of  his  adventures  in  Britain  : 

And  it  so  happened,  that  out  of  so  large  a  number  of  ships,  in  so 
many  voyages,  neither  in  this  nor  in  the  previous  year  was  any 


CXESAR.  43 

ship  missing  which  conveyed  soldiers ;  but  very  few  out  of  those 
which  were  sent  back  to  him  from  the  continent  empty,  as  the  sol- 
diers of  the  former  convoy  had  been  disembarked,  and  out  of  those 
(sixty  in  number)  which  Labienus  had  taken  care  to  have  built, 
reached  their  destination ;  almost  all  the  rest  were  driven  back, 
and  when  Csesar  had  waited  for  them  for  some  time  in  vain,  lest  he 
should  be  deterred  from  a  voyage  by  the  season  of  the  year,  inas- 
much as  the  equinox  was  at  hand,  he  of  necessity  stowed  his 
soldiers  the  more  closely,  and,  a  very  great  calm  coming  on,  after 
he  had  weighed  anchor  at  the  beginning  of  the  second  watch, 
he  reached  land  at  break  of  day  and  brought  in  all  the  ships  in 
safety. 

Returned  to  Gaul,  Csesar  found  that  the  harvests  there, 
on  account  of  droughts,  were  poor.  He  felt  compelled,  ac- 
cordingly, to  depart  from  his  prudent  previous  practice,  and 
for  that  winter  distribute  his  legions.  This  seemed  to  offer  to 
the  natives  their  chance.  There  was  a  general  movement 
commenced  to  fall  on  all  the  Roman  camps  simultaneously, 
and  overpower  them  one  by  one.  This  movement  had 
already  prospered  to  the  extent  of  the  nearly  complete 
destruction  of  one  whole  legion,  when  Quintus  Cicero,  the 
great  Cicero's  brother,  a  lieutenant  of  Caesar's,  was  attacked  in 
his  camp. 

The  annihilated  Nervii,  of  whom  Csesar  told  us  in  the 
second  book  of  his  Commentaries,  re-appeared  unaccountably 
here,  and,  it  would  seem,  for  an  annihilated  nation,  in  very 
considerable  force.  Here  is  what  Csesar  tells  us  of  them  and 
of  their  work.  How  much,  think  you,  did  eagerness  for 
revenge  stimulate  these  brave,  fierce  fellows  in  their  in- 
credible toils  ? 

The  Nervians  .  .  .  surrounded  the  camp  with  a  line,  whose 
rampart  was  eleven  feet  high,  and  ditch  fifteen  feet  deep.  They 
had  learned  something  of  this  in  former  wars  with  Csesar,  and  the 
prisoners  they  had  made  gave  them  further  instructions.  But 
being  unprovided  with  the  tools  necessary  in  this  kind  of  service, 
they  were  obliged  to  cut  the  turf  with  their  swords,  dig  up  the 
earth  with  their  hands,  and  carry  it  in  their  cloaks.  And  hence 
it  will  be  easy  to  form  some  judgment  of  their  number ;  for  in  less 


44  CLASSIC  LATIN  COURSE  IN  ENGLISH. 

than  three  hours  they  completed  a  line  of  fifteen  miles  in  circuit. 
The  following  days  were  employed  in  raising  towers,  proportioned 
to  the  height  of  our  rampart,  and  in  preparing  scythes,  and  wooden 
galleries,  in  which  they  were  again  assisted  by  the  prisoners. 

In  near  sequel  to  this  comes  an  episode  so  very  romantic, 
and  so  far  outside  of  the  limits  within  which  Caesar  usually 
confines  his  narration,  that  our  readers  will  like  to  have 
seen  it  in  the  translated  text  of  the  original : 

In  this  legion  were  two  centurions  of  distinguished  valor, 
T.  Pul'fi-o  and  L.  Va-re'nus,  who  stood  fair  for  being  raised  to  the 
first  rank  of  their  order.  These  were  perpetually  disputing 
with  one  another  the  pre-eminence  in  courage  and  at  every  year's 
promotion  contended  with  great  eagerness  for  precedence.  In  the 
heat  of  the  attack  before  the  ramparts,  Pulfio  addressing  Varenus, 
"What  hinders  you  now  [says  he]  or  what  more  glorious  oppor- 
tunity would  you  desire  of  signalizing  your  bravery  ?  This,  this  is 
the  day  for  determining  the  controversy  between  us."  At  these 
words  he  sallied  out  of  the  camp  and  rushed  amid  the  thickest 
of  the  Gauls.  Nor  did  Varenus  decline  the  challenge ;  but  think- 
ing his  honor  at  stake,  followed  at  some  distance.  Pulfio  darted 
his  javelin  at  the  enemy,  and  transfixed  a  Gaul  that  was  coming 
forward  to  engage  him  ;  who,  falling  dead  of  the  wound,  the  multi- 
tude advanced  to  cover  him  with  their  shields,  and  all  poured  their 
darts  upon  Pulfio,  giving  him  no  time  to  retire.  A  javelin  pierced 
his  shield  and  stuck  fast  in  his  belt.  This  accident,  entangling  his 
right  hand,  prevented  him  from  drawing  his  sword,  and  gave 
the  enemy  time  to  surround  him.  Varenus,  his  rival,  flew  to 
his  assistance,  and  endeavored  to  rescue  him.  Immediately  the 
multitude,  quitting  Pulfio,  as  fancying  the  dart  had  dispatched 
him,  all  turned  upon  Varenus.  He  met  them  with  his  sword 
drawn,  charged  them  hand  to  hand,  and  having  laid  one  dead 
at  his  feet,  drove  back  the  rest;  but,  pursuing  with  too  much 
eagerness,  stepped  into  a  hole,  and  fell  down.  Pulfio,  in  his  turn, 
hastened  to  extricate  him;  and  both  together,  after  having  slain 
a  multitude  of  the  Gauls,  and  acquired  infinite  applause,  retired 
unhurt  within  the  intrenchments.  Thus  fortune  gave  such  a 
turn  to  the  dispute  that  each  owed  his  life  to  his  adversary ; 
nor  was  it  possible  to  decide  to  which  of  them  the  prize  of  valor 
was  due. 

The  situation,  meantime,  became  daily  more  critical  for  dis- 
tressed Cicero.  But  he  was  relieved  at  last  by  the  coming 
of  Csesar.  It  was  an  occasion  in  some  features  like  Havelock's 


CJESAR.  45 

famous  relief  of  Lucknow.  The  final  result  was  decisive 
victory  for  the  Romans. 

The  chief  peril  was  now  past,  but  the  winter  kept  bring- 
ing fresh  anxieties  to  Caesar,  who  had  this  time  to  forego 
his  accustomed  annual  visit  to  Italy. 

The  fifth  book  closes  without  mention  made  of  any  thanks- 
giving decreed  at  Rome  for  Caesar's  successes,  and  Caesar 
has  no  concluding  paragraph  in  self-complacent  celebration  of 
his  own  good  fortune. 

Caesar  resolved  to  show  the  Gauls  how  Romans  behaved 
themselves  in  the  presence  of  reverses  to  their  arms.  This 
is  set  forth  in  the  sixth  book  of  the  Gallic  Commentaries, 
which  is  accordingly  a  stimulating  chapter  of  the  narrative. 
He  made  a  new  levy  of  troops  ;  the  cohorts  lost  under  Titu- 
rius  he  replaced  with  a  double  number  of  soldiers,  and  he 
borrowed  a  legion  from  his  fellow-triumvir,  Pompey.  Thus 
strengthened  in  force,  Caesar  further  strengthened  himself 
with  speed  ;  for  he  began  his  new  campaign  before  the  winter 
was  over.  Observing  that  in  the  customary  annual  con- 
gress of  Gaul,  summoned  by  him,  the  Sen'o-nes  failed  to 
appear,  Caesar,  with  prompt  audacity,  at  once  transfers  the 
place  of  meeting  to  their  neighborhood.  He  goes  to  Paris 
(Lu-te/tia  Par-is-i-o/rum).  How  modern  and  how  real  this 
name  makes  the  history  seem.  From  Paris,  with  those  forced 
marches  of  his  which  so  often  accomplished  so  much  for 
his  cause,  he  brings  his  legions  into  the  country  of  the 
Senones.  Acco,  the  head  of  the  revolt,  calls  on  the  Senones 
to  muster  into  their  towns.  But  the  sudden  apparition  of  the 
Romans  overawes  them,  and  they  send  in  their  surrender. 
Caesar  accepts  their  submission — for  the  sake  of  his  friends, 
the  JEduans,  to  whom  he  hands  over  for  safe  keeping  the 
hundred  hostages  exacted.  It  will  turn  out  to  have  been 
a  confidence  ill  placed.  In  the  end,  even  the  trusted  ^Eduans 
will  rise  against  Caesar. 


46  CLASSIC  LATIN  COURSE  IN  ENGLISH. 

Csesar  never,  perhaps,  in  any  other  instance,  evinced  so 
much  personal  feeling  to  ripple  the  habitual  viscid  flux  of 
his  glacial  cold-bloodedness,  as  in  the  instance  of  Am-bi'o-rix, 
that  subtle  deceiver  and  destroyer  of  Titurius  with  his  legion. 
With  noticeable  energy  of  expression,  Csesar  remarks  that, 
the  Senones  disposed  of,  he  "  applied  himself  entirely,  both  in 
mind  and  in  soul,  to  the  war  with  the  Trev'i-ri  and  Am- 
biorix."  It  might  be  said  that  to  make  an  end  of  Ambiorix 
the  campaign  is  chiefly  directed.  It  seems  not  so  much 
victory  as  revenge  that  Csesar  seeks.  He  fairly  thirsts  for 
Ambiorix's  blood.  Csesar  will  die  thirsting,  for  Ambiorix's 
blood  he  is  destined  never  to  taste.  But  it  was  a  hot  and 
eager  hunt,  with  many  a  slip  'twixt  cup  and  lip  for 
the  hunter,  and  many  a  hairbreadth  escape  for  the  hunted. 
Caesar's  good  fortune  was  at  fault  again. 

Csesar  hunted  with  as  much  of  patience  and  of  prudence 
as  of  zeal.  He  first  went  at  the  Me-na'pi-i  and  the  Treviri, 
and  disposed  of  them. 

But  now  Ambiorix  might  find  refuge  among  the  Germans. 
Caesar  must  bridge  the  Rhine  again  and  provide  against  that. 
The  Suevi  have,  he  learns  on  getting  over,  retired  to  the 
farther  boundary  of  their  possessions,  there  to  await  the  on- 
coming of  the  Romans.  With  this  space  between  himself 
and  his  foe,  Csesar  pauses  to  amuse  his  readers  with  a  circum- 
stantial account  of  the  Germans  and  the  Gauls,  described 
in  mutual  contrast  with  each  other.  Almost  everybody  likes 
to  read  travelers'  stories;  and  when  the  traveler  is  Caius 
Julius  Csesar  and  the  scene  of  the  travels  is  ancient  France 
and  Germany,  the  story  is  likely  to  be  worth  reading.  Still, 
the  inexorable  laws  of  space  forbid  our  including  it  here. 

From  his  geographical  digression,  Csesar  gets  back  to  say 
that  he  resolved  not  to  follow  the  Suevi  into  their  forests. 
Not,  however,  entirely  to  free  the  Germans  from  uncertain 
apprehension  as  to  what  he  may  yet  do,  he  leaves  a  large  part 


CAESAR.  47 

of  his  bridge  standing.    He  now  himself  in  person  sets  forth 
in  chase  of  Ambiorix. 

But  Csesar's  phlegm  was  too  much  quickened.  He  could 
not  wait.  He  sent  on  the  cavalry  in  advance,  "all  the  cav- 
alry," to  surprise  Ambiorix,  if  possible.  The  cavalry  are 
not  to  build  campfires.  The  enemy  would  see  them.  They 
must  take  their  rations  cold,  perhaps  raw  ;  bare  grain,  very 
likely,  which  they  must  champ  like  their  steeds.  The  cavalry 
surpass  themselves  in  speed.  They  surprise  and  capture 
"many  in  the  field" — many,  but  not  Ambiorix.  Csesar  has 
to  moralize  about  "fortune."  The  cavalry  came  fairly  upon 
Ambiorix.  They  got  everything  that  belonged  to  him,  his 
horses,  his  chariots,  his  weapons,  but  him  not.  A  few  fol- 
lowers of  his  made  a  momentary  stand  against  the  Roman 
onset.  They  meantime  mounted  Ambiorix,  and  he  escaped. 

But  Ambiorix's  people  had  a  lamentable  lot.  They  were 
dispersed  in  every  direction,  each  man  looking  out  for  himself. 
Ambiorix's  colleague,  King  Cat-i-vol'cus,  infirm  and  old, 
called  down  every  curse  on  Ambiorix  and  poisoned  himself. 
Caesar's  purpose  was  fell.  He  wished  to  root  out  that  "stock 
of  wicked  men."  In  order  not  to  risk  precious  Roman 
soldiers  in  the  forest,  he  called  in  the  neighboring  tribes  to  the 
hunt,  making  Ambiorix's  nation,  the  Eb/u-ro/nes,  a  free  and 
common  prey,  to  all.  It  was  better  economy,  Csesar  thought, 
to  throw  away  Gfallic  lives  than  Roman,  in  so  dangerous  a 
chase.  But  at  some  rate,  "  the  stock  and  the  name  of  the 
state"  must  "for  such  a  crime  be  abolished."  Again  Csesar 
feels  called  upon  to  speak  of  the  powerful  influence  exercised 
in  war  by  fortune.  His  promising  plan  for  the  extermination 
of  the  Eburones  comes  near  costing  him  a  lieutenant  and 
a  legion. 

For,  from  even  beyond  the  Rhine,  who  should  hear  of  this 
fine  free  hunt  in  progress,  and  come  forward  for  their  share  of 
the  booty,  but  the  8i-cam/bri  ?  These  freebooters,  the  Sicambri, 


48  CLASSIC  LATIN  COURSE  IN  ENGLISH. 

however,  have  it  whispered  to  them  that  there  is  a  richer 
chance.  What  need  prevent  their  surprising  and  taking 
Quintus  Cicero  with  his  command?  The  prize  would  be 
immense.  Cicero,  by  order  from  Csesar,  is  keeping  his  soldiers 
very  close  within  the  intrenchments.  At  length,  however, 
a  party  of  the  recovered  sick  and  wounded,  with  a  large 
retinue  of  slaves  and  beasts  of  burden,  make  a  sally  for 
foraging.  At  this  very  moment,  up  come  the  Germans  and 
throw  the  camp  into  panic  confusion.  This  is  the  selfsame 
spot  on  which  Titurius  and  his  legion  were  destroyed.  Not 
till  Csesar  arrives  do  they  recover  from  their  fright.  It 
affected  Csesar  sadly  to  reflect  how  what  he  had  plotted 
well  for  the  injury  of  Ambiorix  had  thus  turned  out  actually 
to  -the  advantage  of  that  detestable  man. 

However,  the  hunt  was  resumed.  Thorough  work  Csesar 
made  of  it.  His  plan  was  nothing  less  than  to  remove 
every  cover  that  could  hide  the  fugitive.  Far  and  wide  the 
horsemen  rode  to  burn  every  human  dwelling  in  the  land 
of  the  Eburones.  The  soldiers,  many  of  them,  kindled  with 
the  hope  of  acquiring  the  highest  favor  with  Csesar,  almost 
killed  themselves,  he  tells  us,  with  their  exertions  to  catch 
Ambiorix.  They  again  and  again  just  missed  him,  but  he 
finally  never  was  caught.  Csesar  had  to  content  himself, 
as  best  he  could,  without  his  Ambiorix. 

He  closes  his  sixth  book  with  mention  of  several  matters 
despatched  by  him  before  his  setting  out  for  Italy.  Among 
these  was  the  execution  of  Acco,  the  head  of  the  late  con- 
federate revolt.  Our  readers  will  perhaps  be  interested  to 
know  how  this  was  accomplished.  Well,  to  use  Caesar's  own 
soft  phrase,  Acco  was  pfct  to  death  "in  accordance  with  the 
custom  of  the  fathers."  This  meant,  if  we  may  trust  the  ex- 
planation supplied  by  Suetonius  in  his  "Life  of  Nero,"  that, 
stripped  naked,  the  victim  was  fastened  by  the  neck  in  a 
forked  stake,  and  then  scourged  till  he  died.  With  much 


CAESAR.  49 

justness  of  sentiment,  Caesar  hints  in  passing  that  this  sen- 
tence of  his  on  Acco  was  "  rather  sharp."  We  can  only  guess 
what  would  have  happened  to  Ambiorix  had  he  been  cap- 
tured. Perhaps,  indeed,  Acco  suffered  a  little  vicariously, 
to  satisfy  the  exasperated  feelings  of  Caesar  disappointed  of 
his  prey  in  the  person  of  hateful  Ambiorix,  hunted  by  him 
so  long  in  vain. 

The  seventh  book  is  of  tragic  interest.  One  man  looms 
large  in  it,  as  the  doomed  Hector  of  a  contest  in  which  no  one 
can  stand  before  the  prowess  of  mighty  Achilles.  Ver-cin- 
get'o-rix  is  this  hero's  name.  He  becomes  the  head  of  a  last, 
the  greatest,  confederate  revolt  of  Gaul  against  Rome.  In  this 
character  he  experiences  various  and  violent  vicissitudes  of 
fortune,  appearing  always  high-hearted  and  noble  whether 
in  prosperity  or  in  adversity.  The  end  was  inevitable,  for 
he  contended  with  Caesar  and  with  Home.  Vercingetorix 
is  fatally  defeated  and  is  captured.  It  is  one  of  the  many  deep 
and  indelible  stains  on  the  glory  of  Caesar  that,  while  he  as 
conqueror  was  enjoying  his  triumph  at  Rome,  his  gallant  cap- 
tive, Vercingetorix,  at  the  selfsame  moment  suffered  death 
in  his  Roman  dungeon. 

The  eighth  and  last  book  was  written  by  Caesar's  lieu- 
tenant, Hirtius.  Hirtius  relates  that  Caesar,  "  convinced  that 
his  lenity  was  known  to  all  men,"  and  so  not  fearing  the 
charge  of  "cruelty,"  once  "cut  off  the  hands  of  those  who 
had  borne  arms  against  him.  Their  lives  he  spared,  that  the 
punishment  of  their  rebellion  might  be  the  more  conspicuous." 

If  we  are  hastily  inclined  to  charge  such  atrocity  in  war- 
fare exclusively  to  a  pagan  spirit  abolished  with  the  entrance 
and  spread  of  Christianity,  let  us  remember  Cortes,  nay, 
even  Columbus,  and  be  rebuked  and  ashamed. 

In  one  of  his  triumphs,  Caesar  made  an  immense  artificial 
lake,  on  the  surface  of  which  he  exhibited  a  sea  fight — not 
a  sham  fight,  but  a  real  fight— in  which  thousands  of 


50  CLASSIC  LATIN  COURSE  IN  ENGLISH. 

Egyptians  and  thousands  of  Tyrians,  respectively,  killed 
each  other  for  the  delight  of  the  populace.  There  were 
murmurs  at  this  feature  of  Caesar's  displays — not,  however, 
because  it  was  cruel,  but  because  it  was  wasteful.  No  wonder 
De  Quincey  called  the  Roman  Empire  founded  by  Csesar  a 
.magnificently  masked  essential  barbarism.  Csesar  himself, 
De  Quincey  nevertheless  pronounces — and  with  this  sentence 
let  us  dismiss  the  present  subject — "  unquestionably,  for 
comprehensive  talents,  the  Lucifer,  the  protagonist,  of  all 
antiquity." 


CHAPTER    V. 

CICEKO. 

CICERO  is  beyond  comparison  the  most  modern  of  the 
ancients.  We  scarcely  seem  to  be  breathing  the  atmosphere 
of  antiquity  when  we  are  dealing  with  Cicero.  Especially 
in  reading  his  letters,  we  unconsciously  forget  that  the 
writer  of  these  living  lines  died  near  nineteen  hundred 
years  ago.  Cicero  was  a  most  human-hearted  man,  possessing 
breadth  enough  of  temperament  and  of  sympathy  to  ally  him 
with  all  races  and  all  ages  of  his  kind.  In  Arpinum  in  Italy, 
the  birthplace  of  one  of  Borne' s  greatest  generals,  Rome's 
greatest  orator  was  born.  Caius  Marius  and  Marcus  Tullius 
Cicero  were  fellow-townsmen  by  birth.  Cicero  was  not  of 
patrician  blood;  but  his  father  was  a  gentleman  in  circum- 
stances that  enabled  him  to  give  his  son  the  best  advantages 
for  education.  These  of  course  were  to  be  found  in  Rome,  and 
to  Rome  accordingly  young  Cicero  was  sent.  Here,  at  sixteen 
years  of  age,  the  future  orator  began  his  studies  in  law. 

As  a  good  Roman,  with  his  fortune  to  make,  Cicero  must 
needs  have  some  experience  in  army  life.  This,  with  sub- 
sequent tours  of  foreign  travel,  took  him  away  from  the 
metropolis  of  the  world,  which  however  in  due  time  drew  him 
back  into  its  all-devouring  vortex.  Cicero  rapidly  made  him- 
self conspicuous  at  Rome.  Round  after  round,  he  climbed  the 
ladder  of  political  promotion,  until  he  became  quaestor  in 
Sicily.  The  quaestorship  was  an  office  that  had  to  do  with 
revenue  and  finance.  Cicero  distinguished  himself  as  quaestor 

51 


52  CLASSIC  LATIN  COURSE  IN  ENGLISH. 

by  his  ability  and  by  his  probity.  The  Sicilians  were 
delighted  with  this  upright,  accomplished,  and  genial  official 
from  Rome.  Their  praises  almost  turned  the  young  fellow's 
head.  Cicero  afterwards  rallied  himself  in  public  with  ad- 
mirable humor  for  the  weakness  of  vanity  indulged  by  him  on 
occasion  of  the  displays  that  were  made  in  his  honor  by 
the  grateful  and  effusive  Sicilians.  The  allusion  to  this  ex- 
perience of  his  over-susceptible  youth  was  artfully  introduced 
by  the  orator  to  enliven  a  certain  speech  that  he  was  making. 
"  I  thought  in  my  heart,"  Cicero  said,  "  that  the  people 
at  Rome  must  be  talking  of  nothing  but  my  quaestorship." 
He  was  duly  discharged  of  this  pleasing  illusion — he  pro- 
ceeds to  tell  us  how.  Cicero  conceived  the  following  strain  of 
allusion  to  himself— which  may  be  taken  as  a  good  specimen 
of  the  Ciceronian  pleasantry,  and  Cicero  was  rated  a  very 
lively  man  : 

The  people  of  Sicily  had  devised  for  me  unprecedented  honors. 
So  I  left  the  island  in  a  state  of  great  elation,  thinking  that  the 
Roman  people  would  at  once  offer  me  everything  without  my 
seeking.  But  when  I  was  leaving  my  province  and  on  my  road 
home,  I  happened  to  land  at  Pu-te'o-li  just  at  the  time  when  a  good 
many  of  our  most  fashionable  people  are  accustomed  to  resort  to 
that  neighborhood.  I  very  nearly  collapsed,  gentlemen,  when  a 
man  asked  me  what  day  I  had  left  Rome  and  whether  there  was 
any  news  stirring?  When  I  made  answer  that  I  was  returning 
from  my  province — "  Oh !  yes,  to  be  sure,"  said  he ;  "  Africa,  I  be- 
lieve?" "No,"  said  I  to  him,  considerably  annoyed  and  dis- 
gusted ;  "  from  Sicily."  Then  somebody  else,  with  an  air  of  a 
man  who  knew  all  about  it,  said  to  him — "  What !  don't  you  know 
that  he  was  quaestor  at  Syracuse?  "  [It  was  at  Li-ly-bse'um — 
quite  a  different  district.]  No  need  to  make  a  long  story  of  it ; 
I  swallowed  my  indignation  and  made  as  though  I,  like  the 
rest,  had  come  there  for  the  waters. 

Cicero's  "improvement"  of  the  lesson  was  highly  charac- 
teristic, both  of  the  Roman  and  of  Cicero.  He  says  he  learned 
from  it  how  important  it  was  for  his  own  profit  that  he  should 
keep  himself  constantly  familiar  before  the  eyes  of  his 
countrymen  at  Rome  and  that  he  should  sedulously  practice 


CICERO.  53 

every  art  of  popularity.    The  following  are  the  orator's  own 
words  : 

But  I  am  not  sure,  gentlemen,  whether  that  scene  did  not  do  me 
more  good  than  if  everybody  then  and  there  had  publicly  con- 
gratulated me.  For  after  I  had  thus  found  out  that  the  people 
of  Rome  have  somewhat  deaf  ears,  but  very  keen  and  sharp  eyes, 
I  left  off  cogitating  what  people  would  hear  about  me  ;  I  took  care 
that  thenceforth  they  should  see  me  before  them  every  day:  I 
lived  in  their  sight,  I  stuck  close  to  the  Forum ;  the  porter  at 
my  gate  refused  no  man  admittance— my  very  sleep  was  never 
allowed  to  be  a  plea  against  an  audience. 

How  thoroughly  a  politician  in  spirit  Cicero  was,  and 
how  willingly  he  confessed  that  fact  to  the  people  of 
Rome — whom  he  nattered  in  the  very  act  of  so  confessing  it — 
is  well  shown  in  the  following  sentences  from  the  same  speech : 

This  is  the  inalienable  privilege  of  a  free  people,  and  especially  of 
this  the  chief  people  of  the  world,  the  lord  and  conqueror  of  all  na- 
tions, to  be  able  by  their  votes  to  give  or  to  take  away  what 
they  please  to  or  from  any  one.  And  it  is  our  duty, — ours,  I 
say,  who  are  driven  about  by  the  winds  and  waves  of  this  people, 
to  bear  the  whims  of  the  people  with  moderation,  to  strive  to 
win  over  their  affections  when  alienated  from  us,  to  retain  them 
when  we  have  won  them,  to  tranquilize  them  when  in  a  state 
of  agitation.  If  we  do  not  think  honors  of  any  great  consequence, 
we  are  not  bound  to  be  subservient  to  the  people;  if  we  do 
strive  for  them,  then  we  must  be  unwearied  in  soliciting  them. 

The  Koman  people  enforced  a  good  deal  of  meekness  in  their 
candidates  for  office.  Successful  politicians  had  to  learn  the 
distasteful  art  of  stooping  to  conquer. 

The  first  really  great  display  of  oratory  from  Cicero,  was  his 
impeachment  of  Verres.  Verres  had  been  praetor  in  Sicily, 
and  had  there  signalized  his  administration  of  office  with 
more  than  normal  Eoman  cruelty.  Cicero  brought  him  to 
trial.  From  this  moment  Cicero  was  the  foremost  orator  of 
Rome.  Everything  now  lay  possible  before  him.  He  was 
soon  consul.  His  merit  and  his  fortune  together  made  his 
consulship  the  most  illustrious  in  the  annals  of  Rome.  That 
year  was  the  year  of  the  conspiracy  of  Catiline.  This  great 


54  CLASSIC  LATIN  COURSE  IN  ENGLISH. 

political  crime,  Cicero  had  the  good  luck  and  the  sagacity 
mingled,  to  detect,  the  courage,  with  the  eloquence,  to  de- 
nounce, and  the  practical  address  completely  to  foil.  His 
conduct  gave  him  the  proud  title  of  Father  of  his  Country. 
No  one  ever  relished  success  more  frankly  than  did  Cicero. 
He  never  wearied  of  sounding  out  the  praises  of  his  own  con- 
sulship. Cicero  in  fact  was  deeply  encased  with  panoply 
of  self-complacency.  This  armor  served  him  well  for  defense 
against  many  an  inward  wound  ;  but  Cicero's  vanity  and 
an  insincerity  in  him  that  was  close  of  kin  to  vanity  have 
proved  indelible  blemishes  on  the  fair  face  of  his  fame. 

Out  of  the  heart  itself  of  the  success  achieved  by  him  in  the 
matter  of  Catiline,  sprang  one  of  the  greatest  of  the  calamities 
that  marked  Cicero's  checkered,  and  at  last  tragical  career.  A 
bill  was  introduced  into  the  senate  empowering  Pompey,  now 
returned  in  triumph  from  the  war  against  Mithridates,  to 
"  restore  the  violated  constitution."  This  ominous  language 
had  Cicero  for  its  aim.  Cicero  had  put  Roman  citizens  to 
death  without  regular  trial.  Julius  Caesar  was  demagogue 
enough  to  support  the  bill.  The  bill  failed  in  the  senate, 
but  Cicero  did  not  escape.  A  personal  enemy  of  his  got 
the  people  of  Rome  to  pass  sentence  of  banishment  upon 
him. 

But  a  great  compensation  awaited  the  disconsolate  exile. 
After  a  year  and  a  half,  Cicero  was  brought  back  to  Rome  like 
a  conqueror.  No  military  triumph  decreed  him  could  have 
done  him  half  the  honor  or  have  yielded  him  half  the  generous 
joy  that  now  overflowingly  filled  his  cup  in  the  magnificent 
popular  ovation  spontaneously  prolonged  to  the  returning 
patriot  through  an  imperial  progress  .on  his  part  of  twenty- 
four  days  from  Brundusium  to  Rome.  Cicero's  heart  swelled 
with  unbounded  elation.  The  height  of  the  joy  was  as 
had  been  the  depth  of  the  sorrow.  Let  Cicero  himself 
describe  his  triumph  for  us: 


CICERO.  65 

Who  does  not  know  what  my  return  home  was  like?  How 
the  people  of  Brundusium  held  out  to  me,  as  I  might  say,  the  right 
hand  of  welcome  on  behalf  of  all  my  native  land  ?  From  thence 
to  Rome  my  progress  was  like  a  march  of  all  Italy.  There  was  no 
district,  no  town,  corporation,  or  colony,  from  which  a  public 
deputation  was  not  sent  to  congratulate  me.  Why  need  I  speak  of 
my  arrival  at  each  place?  how  the  people  crowded  the  streets 
in  the  towns ;  how  they  flocked  in  from  the  country — fathers  of 
families  with  wives  and  children?  How  can  I  describe  those  days, 
when  all  kept  holiday,  as  though  it  were  some  high  festival  of  the 
immortal  gods,  in  joy  for  my  safe  return?  That  single  day  was  to 
me  like  immortality ;  when  I  returned  to  my  own  city,  when  I  saw 
the  senate  and  the  population  of  all  ranks  come  forth  to  greet  me, 
when  Rome  herself  looked  as  though  she  had  wrenched  herself 
from  her  foundations  to  rush  to  embrace  her  preserver.  For  she 
received  me  in  such  sort,  that  not  only  all  sexes,  ages,  and  callings, 
men  and  women  of  every  rank  and  degree,  but  even  the  very 
walls,  the  houses,  the  temples,  seemed  to  share  the  universal  joy. 

Returning  to  Rome  from  a  governorship  in  Cilicia,  with  the 
mild  glory  of  just  and  successful  administration  surrounding 
him,  he  found  the  issue  ready  to  be  joined  in  deadly  duel  for 
empire  between  Caesar  and  Pompey.  He  cast  in  his  own  lot 
with  Pompey.  But  he  did  not  wholly  trust  Pompey.  Indeed 
he  despaired  of  the  republic — whichever  might  win,  Pompey 
or  Caesar.  Caesar  won.  But  the  term  was  brief  of  Caesar's 
enjoyment  of  that  supreme  power  which,  as  Pliny  tells  us  the 
conqueror  himself  used  to  say,  it  had  cost  a  million  and  a  half 
of  human  lives,  in  Gaul  alone,  to  win.  Cicero  was  not  one 
of  those  who  conspired  against  Caesar,  but  he  rejoiced  at  the 
great  man's  bloody  death — openly,  almost  savagely,  rejoiced. 
He  thought  that  the  republic — that  dream,  that  ideal,  of  his 
love — was  about  to  be  restored.  But  he  thought  wrong  and  he 
paid  the  price  of  his  mistake  with  his  blood. 

The  period  during  which,  after  Caesar's  death,  Cicero,  with 
his  tongue,  waged  war  against  Antony,  was  the  most  truly 
glorious  of  his  life.  Rufus  Choate  has  celebrated  it,  with  pomp 
of  numerous  prose,  beating  in  a  rhythm  answering  to  the 
rhythm  of  Cicero  himself,  in  a  splendid  discourse  on  the 


56  CLASSIC  LATIN  COURSE  IN   ENGLISH. 

"Eloquence  of  Revolutionary  Periods."  Cicero  was  a  true 
hero  now.  His  face,  his  form,  his  gait,  are  transfigured,  like 
those  of  O-dys/seus  at  the  gift  of  Pallas  Ath-e'ne.  One  is 
pathetically  comforted  and  glad,  to  behold  the  orator,  the 
statesman,  the  philosopher,  the  man — whom,  before  this,  one 
could  not  wholly  admire — divested  at  length  of  the  weakness 
of  vanity  and  of  fear,  marching  forward  erect  and  elate,  like 
a  demigod  out  of  Homer,  and  as  with  a  kind  of  menacing  and 
triumphing  welcome  to  his  doom.  His  doom  met  him  with 
equal  advancing  steps.  The  story  is  familiar,  but  it  bears  to  be 
told  again  and  again. 

The  triumvirate  had  triumphed  over  the  republicans,  and 
therefore  over  Cicero.  They  made  out  a  list  for  death,  and 
Antony  included  Cicero's  name.  It  was  the  usurper's  re- 
venge for  Cicero's  philippics  against  him.  Cicero  was  at  his 
Tusculan  villa  when  he  heard  that  he  was  proscribed.  He 
sought  to  escape  from  the  country.  But  life  was  no  longer 
dear  to  him,  and,  after  some  irresolution,  he  decided  to  die  by 
his  own  act.  He  would  first  rest  a  while,  and  then  go  hence. 
While  he  was  resting,  Antony's  emissaries  came.  Cicero's 
servants  hastened  with  their  master  borne  on  a  litter  toward 
the  sea.  But  the  soldiers  were  too  quick  for  them.  The 
servants  affectionately  and  bravely  addressed  themselves  for 
fight  with  their  pursuers.  But  Cicero  forbade  them.  He 
stretched  forth  his  head  and  neck  from  the  litter,  and  sum- 
moned the  soldiers  to  take  what  they  wanted.  They  wanted 
his  head  and  his  hands.  These  they  bore  with  speed  to 
Antony  in  the  forum.  Antony  feasted  his  famished  grudge 
with  the  sight  and  had  them  fixed  for  general  view  on  the 
rostra  from  which,  in  better  times,  Cicero  so  often  had  spoken. 
The  tears  that  Rome  shed  were  wept  perhaps  as  much  for  her- 
self, as  for  her  Tully. 

Tully's  praises  were  silent  during  the  time  of  Augustus — for 
to  praise  Cicero  would  have  been  to  blame  the  emperor — but 


CICERO.  57 

they  broke  out  again  soon  after,  and  they  have  since  filled  the 
world. 

Cicero's  writings  form  what  has  been  finely  called  a  library 
of  reason  and  eloquence.  They  comprise  orations,  letters,  and 
essays  in  what  is  conventionally  called  philosophy.  Let  us 
first  deal  with  the  orations. 

Of  Cicero  as  an  orator  it  may  summarily  be  said  that  he  was, 
first  of  all,  and  always,  as  clear  as  a  sunbeam — this,  both  as  to 
his  general  order  in  the  speech  and  as  to  the  structure  of  the 
particular  sentence — full  in  matter,  copious,  while  pure,  in 
diction,  harmonious  in  rhythm,  in  temper  by  preference 
urbane,  though  capable  of  the  utmost  truculence,  unsurpassed 
in  skill  of  self-adjustment  to  the  demands  of  his  occasion. 
Readers  who,  in  the  companion  volume  to  this,  that  on  Greek 
literature,  study  the  eloquence  of  Demosthenes,  may  see  the 
Roman's  style  in  a  still  stronger  light  by  comparing  and  con- 
trasting it  with  the  style  of  the  Greek.  The  English  Burke, 
we  believe,  consciously  modeled  his  own  oratory  on  the  ora- 
tory of  Cicero. 

To  show  Cicero  first  on  that  more  gracious  side  of  his  oratory 
with  which  the  greater  part  of  our  citation  from  him  will  be 
in  bold,  even  violent,  contrast,  we  present  a  very  brief  ex- 
tract from  his  celebrated  oration  on  Marcus  Marcellus.  Mar- 
cellus  had  fought  against  Caesar  in  the  civil  war,  and  for  that 
reason  now  kept  himself  in  exile.  His  cousin  one  day  in  full 
senate  prostrated  himself  before  Caesar  to  implore  the  dicta- 
tor's pardon  for  his  kinsman.  The  whole  body  of  the  senators 
did  likewise.  Caesar  yielded  and  pardoned  the  exile.  Here- 
upon Cicero  responded  in  a  speech  which  is  preserved  for  us  in 
written  form.  We  give  only  a  single  paragraph  in  specimen  : 

O  Caius  Csesar,  those  military  glories  of  yours  will  be  celebrated 
not  only  in  our  own  literature  and  language,  but  in  those  of  al- 
most all  nations ;  nor  is  there  any  age  which  will  ever  be  silent 
about  your  praises.  But  still,  deeds  of  that  sort,  somehow  or 
other,  even  when  they  are  read,  appear  to  be  overwhelmed  with 


68  CLASSIC  LATIN  COURSE  IN  ENGLISH. 

the  cries  of  the  soldiers  and  the  sound  of  the  trumpets.  But  when 
we  hear  or  read  of  anything  which  has  been  done  with  clemency, 
with  humanity,  with  justice,  with  moderation,  and  with  wisdom, 
especially  in  a  time  of  anger,  which  is  very  adverse  to  prudence, 
and  in  the  hour  of  victory,  which  is  naturally  insolent  and 
haughty,  with  what  ardor  are  we  then  inflamed  (even  if  the 
actions  are  not  such  as  have  really  been  performed,  but  are  only 
fabulous)  so  as  often  to  love  those  whom  we  have  never  seen !  But 
as  for  you,  whom  we  behold  present  among  us,  whose  mind  and 
feelings  and  countenance  we  at  this  moment  see  to  be  such,  that 
you  wish  to  preserve  everything  which  the  fortune  of  war  has  left 
to  the  republic,  O  with  what  praises  must  we  extol  you  ?  with 
what  zeal  must  we  follow  you  ?  with  what  affection  must  we  de- 
vote ourselves  to  you  ?  The  very  walls,  I  declare,  the  very  walls 
of  this  senate-house  appear  to  me  eager  to  return  you  thanks :  be- 
cause, in  a  short  time,  you  will  have  restored  their  ancient  author- 
ity to  this  venerable  abode  of  themselves  and  of  their  ancestors. 

Now  no  one  can  read  intelligently  the  foregoing  represent- 
ative extract,  inadequate  through  brevity  as  it  is,  from  this 
senatorial  speech  of  Cicero,  without  perceiving  that,  both  in 
the  lines  and  between  the  lines  of  the  speech,  there  unmis- 
takably betrays  itself  the  spirit  of  the  patriot  consenting  to 
speak,  nay,  generously  rejoicing  to  speak,  in  the  words  of  the 
personal  encomiast.  The  orator  hoped  well  concerning  the 
republic.  Cicero's  letters,  written  about  the  date  of  this 
speech,  make  it  probable  that  the  trust  was  not  yet  extinct  in 
his  breast  that  Caesar  was  going  to  restore  the  ancient  freedom 
and  constitution.  Caesar  should  be  helped  on  to  any  such 
goal  of  his  thought  by  every  incitement  of  appreciation  shown 
him  beforehand.  The  praise,  then,  was  less  mere  adulation, 
than  pregnant  wisdom  of  oratory  and  statesmanship. 

Before — but  not  many  years  before — Caesar  went  to  Gaul, 
there  was  a  wide-spread  dangerous  political  movement  on  foot 
at  Rome,  desperate  enough  in  its  aim  and  in  its  measures,  as 
also  in  the  character  of  the  men  concerned  in  it,  to  be  justly 
branded  a  conspiracy.  Of  this  conspiracy,  the  leading  spirit 
was  Lucius  Catilina,  commonly  now  among  us  called  Catiline. 
Catiline  was  a  member  of  the  senate,  and  many  of  his  fellow- 


CICERO.  59 

conspirators  belonged  to  the  same  body.  He  was  bankrupt  in 
fortune  and  in  name — by  general  agreement  an  abandoned 
man.  But  he  was  as  able  as  he  was  unscrupulous. 

Cicero  had  proposed  a  new  law  against  bribery.  Catiline 
felt  himself  aimed  at  and  plotted  against  Cicero's  life.  Cicero 
in  open  senate  charged  on  him  this  design,  and  the  consuls  to 
meet  the  emergency  were  by  decree  invested  with  dictatorial 
powers.  Catiline's  hopes  of  election  and  his  plot  to  assassin- 
ate Cicero  were  thwarted  together. 

Desperate  now,  he  rushed  into  courses  the  most  extreme.  A 
general  rising  was  to  be  instigated  throughout  Italy.  Rome 
was  to  be  fired  in  numerous  places  at  once,  the  senate  were  all 
to  be  put  to  death,  likewise  the  personal  and  political  enemies 
of  the  conspirators.  Pompey's  sons,  however,  were  to  be  kept 
alive  as  hostages  to  secure  the  proper  behavior  of  Pompey  who, 
in  command  of  an  army  in  the  East,  held  the  really  effective 
power  in  the  state. 

Of  all  this  stupendous  iniquity,  plotted  in  darkness,  Cicero 
was  fortunate  enough  and  skillful  enough  to  learn  from  one  of 
the  conspirators  gained  over  through  the  arts  of  that  con- 
spirator's mistress.  Cicero  managed  the  affair  with  perfect 
adroitness.  Things  proceeded  until  he  summoned  a  meeting 
of  the  senate  in  the  temple  of  Jupiter  at  the  foot  of  the 
Palatine  Hill  (some  say  on  the  Capitoline  Hill),  a  place  of 
assembling  resorted  to  only  under  circumstances  of  the  most 
threatening  danger.  Catiline  was  brazen  enough  to  attend 
himself  this  session  of  the  senate.  His  entrance  created  a 
sensation,  and  that  sensation  Cicero  heightened  by  break- 
ing into  the  following  strain  of  personal  invective,  taken  from 
what  is  known  as  the  first  oration  against  Catiline.  There  are 
four  such  orations  in  all.  Of  these  the  first  and  last  were 
delivered  in  the  senate,  the  second  and  third  in  the  forum 
to  the  popular  assembly  of  citizens.  The  style,  or  rather 
the  course  of  treatment  adopted,  differs  according  to  the 


60  CLASSIC  LATIN  COURSE  IN  ENGLISH. 

character  of  the  audience  addressed  and  according  to  the  ob- 
ject sought  to  be  accomplished  by  the  orator.  Here,  then,  is 
a  condensation  of  the 

FIRST  OBATIOX  AGAINST  CATILINE. 

When,  O  Catiline,  do  you  mean  to  cease  abusing  our  patience? 
How  long  is  that  madness  of  yours  still  to  mock  us  ?  When  is 
there  to  be  an  end  of  that  unbridled  audacity  of  yours,  swaggering 
about  as  it  does  now?  Do  not  the  night  guards  placed  on  the 
Palatine  Hill — do  not  the  watches  posted  throughout  the  city — does 
not  the  alarm  of  the  people,  and  the  union  of  all  good  men- 
does  not  the  precaution  taken  of  assembling  the  senate  in  this  most 
defensible  place — do  not  the  looks  and  countenances  of  this  vener- 
able body  here  present,  have  any  effect  upon  you?  Do  you 
not  feel  that  your  plans  are  detected?  Do  you  not  see  that 
your  conspiracy  is  already  arrested  and  rendered  powerless 
by  the  knowledge  which  every  one  here  possesses  of  it? 
What  is  there  that  you  did  last  night,  what  the  night  before — 
where  is  it  that  you  were — who  was  there  that  you  summoned 
to  meet  you — what  design  was  there  which  was  adopted  by  you, 
with  which  you  think  that  any  one  of  us  is  unacquainted  ? 

Shame  on  the  age  and  on  its  principles !  The  senate  is  aware 
of  these  things ;  the  consul  sees  them ;  and  yet  this  man  lives. 
Lives!  ay,  he  comes  even  into  the  senate.  He  takes  a  part  in 
the  public  deliberations ;  he  is  watching  and  marking  down  and 
checking  off  for  slaughter  every  individual  among  us.  And 
we,  gallant  men  that  we  are,  think  that  we  are  doing  our  duty 
to  the  republic  if  we  keep  out  of  the  way  of  his  frenzied  attacks. 

You  ought,  O  Catiline,  long  ago  to  have  been  led  to  execution  by 
command  of  the  consul.  That  destruction  which  you  have  been 
long  plotting  against  us  ought  to  have  already  fallen  on  your  own 
head. 

What?  Did  not  that  most  illustrious  man,  Publius  Scipio, 
the  Pontifex  Maximus,  in  his  capacity  of  a  private  citizen,  put 
to  death  Tiberius  Gracchus,  though  but  slightly  undermining 
the  constitution?  And  shall  we,  who  are  the  consuls,  tolerate 
Catiline,  openly  desirous  to  destroy  the  whole  world  with  fire 
and  slaughter  ?  For  I  pass  over  older  instances,  such  as  how  Caius 
Servilius  A-ha'la  with  his  own  hand  slew  Spurius  Maelius 
when  plotting  a  revolution  in  the  state.  There  was — there  was 
once  such  virtue  in  this  republic,  that  brave  men  would  repress 
mischievous  citizens  with  severer  chastisement  than  the  most 
bitter  enemy.  For  we  have  a  resolution  of  the  senate,  a  formidable 
and  authoritative  decree  against  you,  O  Catiline ;  the  wisdom  of 


CICERO.  61 

the  republic  is  not  at  fault,  nor  the  dignity  of  this  senatorial  body. 
We,  we  alone — I  say  it  openly — we,  the  consuls,  are  wanting  in  our 
duty. 

The  senate  once  passed  a  decree  that  Lucius  O-pim'i-us,  the  con- 
sul, should  take  care  that  the  republic  suffered  no  injury.  Not  one 
night  elapsed.  There  was  put  to  death,  on  some  mere  suspicion  of 
disaffection,  Caius  Gracchus,  a  man  whose  family  had  borne  the 
most  unblemished  reputation  for  many  generations.  There  was 
slain  Marcus  Fulvius,  a  man  of  consular  rank,  and  all  his  children. 
By  a  like  decree  of  the  senate  the  safety  of  the  republic  was 
intrusted  to  Caius  Marius  and  Lucius  Valerius,  the  consuls.  Did 
not  the  vengeance  of  the  republic,  did  not  execution  overtake 
Lucius  Sat'ur-ni'nus,  a  tribune  of  the  people,  and  Caius  Servilius, 
the  prsetor,  without  the  delay  of  one  single  day  ?  But  we,  for  these 
twenty  days,  have  been  allowing  the  edge  of  the  senate's  authority 
to  grow  blunt,  as  it  were.  For  we  are  in  possession  of  a  similar 
decree  of  the  senate,  but  we  keep  it  locked  up  in  its  parchment — 
buried,  I  may  say,  in  the  sheath ;  and  according  to  this  decree  you 
ought,  O  Catiline,  be  put  to  death  this  instant.  You  live — and  you 
live,  not  to  lay  aside,  but  to  persist  in  your  audacity. 

I  wish,  O  conscript  fathers,  to  be  merciful ;  I  wish  not  to  appear 
negligent  amid  such  danger  to  the  state ;  but  I  do  now  accuse 
myself  of  remissness  and  culpable  inactivity.  A  camp  is  pitched 
in  Italy,  at  the  entrance  of  Etruria,  in  hostility  to  the  republic ; 
the  number  of  the  enemy  increases  every  day ;  and  yet  the  general 
of  that  camp,  the  leader  of  those  enemies,  we  see  within  the  walls — 
ay,  and  even  in  the  senate — planning  every  day  some  internal 
injury  to  the  republic.  If,  O  Catiline,  I  should  now  order  you 
to  be  arrested,  to  be  put  to  death,  I  should,  I  suppose,  have  to 
fear  lest  all  good  men  should  say  that  I  had  acted  tardily, 
rather  than  that  any  one  should  affirm  that  I  acted  cruelly.  But  yet 
this,  which  ought  to  have  been  done  long  since,  I  have  good  reason 
for  not  doing  as  yet ;  I  will  put  you  to  death,  then,  when  there  shall 
be  not  one  person  possible  to  be  found  so  wicked,  so  abandoned,  so 
like  yourself,  as  not  to  allow  that  it  has  been  rightly  done.  As 
long  as  one  person  exists  who  can  dare  to  defend  you,  you  shall  live ; 
but  you  shall  live  as  you  do  now,  surrounded  by  my  many  and 
trusty  guards,  so  that  you  shall  not  be  able  to  stir  one  finger  against 
the  republic ;  many  eyes  and  ears  shall  still  observe  and  watch  you, 
as  they  have  hitherto  done,  though  you  shall  not  perceive  them. 

O  ye  immortal  gods,  where  on  earth  are  we  ?  in  what  city  are  we 
living?  what  constitution  is  ours?  There  are  here — here  in  our 
body,  O  conscript  fathers,  in  this  the  most  holy  and  dignified 
assembly  of  the  whole  world,  men  who  meditate  my  death  and 


62  CLASSIC  LATIN  COURSE  IN  ENGLISH. 

the  death  of  all  of  us,  and  the  destruction  of  this  city  and  of  the 
whole  world.  I,  the  consul,  see  them ;  I  ask  them  their  opinion 
about  the  republic,  and  I  do  not  yet  attack,  even  by  words,  those 
who  ought  to  be  put  to  death  by  the  sword. 

But  now,  what  is  that  life  of  yours  that  you  are  leading  ?  For  I 
will  speak  to  you  not  so  as  to  seem  influenced  by  the  hatred  I  ought 
to  feel,  but  by  pity,  nothing  of  which  is  due  to  you.  You  came  a 
little  while  ago  into  the  senate :  in  so  numerous  an  assembly,  who 
of  so  many  friends  and  connections  of  yours  saluted  you  ?  If  this 
in  the  memory  of  man  never  happened  to  any  one  else,  are  you 
waiting  for  insults  by  word  of  mouth,  when  you  are  overwhelmed 
by  the  most  irresistible  condemnation  of  silence  ?  Is  it  nothing 
that  at  your  arrival  all  those  seats  were  vacated?  that  all  the  men 
of  consular  rank,  who  had  often  been  marked  out  by  you  for 
slaughter,  the  very  moment  you  sat  down,  left  that  part  of  the 
benches  bare  and  vacant  ?  With  what  feelings  do  you  think  you 
ought  to  bear  this?  On  my  honor,  if  my  slaves  feared  me  as  all 
your  fellow-citizens  fear  you,  I  should  think  I  must  leave  my 
house.  Do  not  you  think  you  should  leave  the  city  ?  If  I  saw 
that  I  was  even  undeservedly  so  suspected  and  hated  by  my 
fellow- citizens,  I  would  rather  flee  from  their  sight  than  be  gazed 
at  by  the  hostile  eyes  of  every  one.  And  do  you  who,  from  the 
consciousness  of  your  wickedness,  know  that  the  hatred  of  all 
men  is  just  and  has  been  long  due  to  you,  hesitate  to  avoid  the  sight 
and  presence  of  those  men  whose  minds  and  senses  you  offend  ? 
If  your  parents  feared  and  hated  you,  and  if  you  could  by  no 
means  pacify  them,  you  would,  I  think,  depart  somewhere  out  of 
their  sight.  Now,  your  country,  which  is  the  common  parent  of 
all  of  us,  hates  and  fears  you,  and  has  no  other  opinion  of  you, 
than  that  you  are  meditating  parricide  in  her  case ;  and  will  you 
neither  feel  awe  of  her  authority,  nor  deference  for  her  judgment, 
nor  fear  of  her  power  ? 

And  she,  O  Catiline,  thus  pleads  with  you,  and  after  a  manner 
silently  speaks  to  you :  There  has  now  for  many  years  been  no 
crime  committed  but  by  you ;  no  atrocity  has  taken  place  without 
you ;  you  alone  unpunished  and  unquestioned  have  murdered  the 
citizens,  have  harassed  and  plundered  the  allies ;  you  alone  have 
had  power  not  only  to  neglect  all  laws  and  investigations,  but  to 
overthrow  and  break  through  them.  Your  former  actions,  though 
they  ought  not  to  have  been  borne,  yet  I  did  bear  as  well  as  I 
could  ;  but  now  that  I  should  be  wholly  occupied  with  fear  of  you 
alone,  that  at  every  sound  I  should  dread  Catiline,  that  no  design 
should  seem  possible  to  be  entertained  against  me  which  does  not 
proceed  from  your  wickedness,  this  is  no  longer  endurable.  De- 


CICERO.  63 

part,  then,  and  deliver  me  from  this  fear ;  that,  if  it  be  a  just  one, 
I  may  not  be  destroyed ;  if  an  imaginary  one,  that  at  least  I  may  at 
last  cease  to  fear. 


I  will  let  you  see  what  these  men  [Catiline's  fellow-senators] 
think  of  you.  Be  gone  from  the  city,  O  Catiline,  deliver  the  re- 
public from  fear ;  depart  into  banishment,  if  that  is  the  word  you 
are  waiting  for.  What  now,  O  Catiline  ?  Do  you  not  perceive,  do 
you  not  see  the  silence  of  these  men?  they  permit  it,  they  say 
nothing;  why  wait  you  for  the  authority  of  their  words,  when 
you  see  their  wishes  in  their  silence? 

But  had  I  said  the  same  to  this  excellent  young  man,  Publius 
Bextius,  or  to  that  brave  man,  Marcus  Marcellus,  before  this 
time  the  senate  would  deservedly  have  laid  violent  hands  on 
me,  consul  though  I  be,  in  this  very  temple.  But  as  to  you, 
Catiline,  while  they  are  quiet  they  approve,  while  they  permit  me 
to  speak  they  vote,  while  they  are  silent  they  are  loud  and 
eloquent. 

O  conscript  fathers,  let  the  worthless  begone— let  them  separate 
themselves  from  the  good— let  them  collect  in  one  place — let  them, 
as  I  have  often  said  before,  be  separated  from  us  by  a  wall ; 
let  them  cease  to  plot  against  the  consul  in  his  own  house — to 
surround  the  tribunal  of  the  city  praetor — to  besiege  the  senate- 
house  with  words — to  prepare  brands  and  torches  to  burn  the  city ; 
let  it,  in  short,  be  written  on  the  brow  of  every  citizen,  what 
are  bis  sentiments  about  the  republic.  I  promise  you  this,  O 
conscript  fathers,  that  there  shall  be  so  much  diligence  in  us 
the  consuls,  so  much  authority  in  you,  so  much  virtue  in  the 
Roman  knights,  so  much  unanimity  in  all  good  men,  that  you 
shall  see  everything  made  plain  and  manifest  by  the  departure 
of  Catiline — everything  checked  and  punished. 

With  these  omens,  O  Catiline,  begone  to  your  impious  and  nefari- 
ous war,  to  the  great  safety  of  the  republic,  to  your  own  misfortune 
and  injury,  and  to  the  destruction  of  those  who  have  joined  them- 
selves to  you  in  every  wickedness  and  atrocity.  Then  do  you, 
O  Jupiter,  who  were  consecrated  by  Romulus  with  the  same 
auspices  as  this  city,  whom  we  rightly  call  the  stay  of  this  city  and 
empire,  repel  this  man  and  his  companions  from  your  altars 
and  from  the  other  temples — from  the  houses  and  walls  of  the 
city — from  the  lives  and  fortunes  of  all  the  citizens ;  and  over- 
whelm all  the  enemies  of  good  men,  the  foes  of  the  republic, 
the  robbers  of  Italy,  men  bound  together  by  a  treaty  and  infamous 
alliance  of  crimes,  dead  and  alive,  with  eternal  punishments. 


64  CLASSIC  LATIN  COURSE  IN  ENGLISH. 

The  effect  of  a  speech  so  very  unconventionally  frank, 
on  the  person  against  whom  it  was  aimed,  seems  not  to 
have  been  immediately  and  overwhelmingly  discomposing. 
Catiline  begged  that  the  senate  would  not  be  hasty  in  giving 
credit  to  the  wild  accusations  of  Cicero.  The  senate  responded 
with  cries  of  "Traitor!"  and  "Parricide!"  This  enraged 
Catiline,  and  he  declared  that  the  flame  which  his  enemies 
were  kindling  around  him  he  would  quench  in  the  general 
ruin.  He  flung  fiercely  out  of  the  temple. 

Cicero  had  now  a  task  of  justifying  himself  before  the  people 
of  Home.  For  Catiline's  friends  got  it  reported  that  Catiline 
had  gone  into  voluntary  exile  to  Marseilles,  driven  forth  by 
the  violence  of  the  consul.  To  meet  the  popular  odium  sought 
thus  to  be  excited  against  himself,  and  in  general  to  satisfy 
public  opinion  in  Rome  that  what  had  been  done  had  been 
wisely  done,  Cicero  harangued  the  people  in  the  forum.  We 
give  some  extracts  from  this  address,  usually  called,  the 

SECOND  ORATION  AGAINST  CATILINE. 

At  length,  O  Romans,  we  have  dismissed  from  the  city,  or  driven 
out,  or,  when  he  was  departing  of '  his  own  accord,  we  have  pur- 
sued with  words,  Lucius  Catiline,  mad  with  audacity,  breathing 
wickedness,  impiously  planning  mischief  to  his  country,  threaten- 
ing fire  and  sword  to  you  and  to  this  city.  He  is  gone,  he  has 
departed,  he  has  disappeared,  he  has  rushed  out.  No  injury  will 
now  be  prepared  against  these  walls  within  the  walls  themselves 
by  that  monster  and  prodigy  of  wickedness.  .  .  .  Now  he  lies 
prostrate,  O  Romans,  and  feels  himself  stricken  down  and  abject 
and  often  casts  back  his  eyes  toward  this  city,  which  he  mourns 
over  as  snatched  from  his  jaws,  but  which  seems  to  me  to  rejoice 
at  having  vomited  forth  such  a  pest  and  cast  it  out  of  doors. 

But  if  there  be  any  one  of  that  disposition  which  all  men  should 
have,  who  yet  blames  me  greatly  for  the  very  thing  in  which  my 
speech  exults  and  triumphs — namely,  that  I  did  not  arrest  so  capi- 
tal mortal  an  enemy  rather  than  let  him  go — that  is  not  my  fault,  O 
citizens,  but  the  fault  of  the  times.  Lucius  Catiline  ought  to  have 
been  visited  with  the  severest  punishment  and  to  have  been  put  to 
death  long  since ;  and  both  the  customs  of  our  ancestors  and  the 
rigor  of  my  office  and  the  republic,  demanded  this  of  me ;  but  how 
many,  think  you,  were  there  who  did  not  believe  what  I  reported  ? 


CICERO.  65 

how  many  who  out  of  stupidity  did  not  think  so  ?  how  many  who 
even  defended  him  ?  how  many  who,  out  of  their  own  depravity, 
favored  him  ?  If,  in  truth,  I  had  thought  that,  if  he  were  removed, 
all  danger  would  be  removed  from  you,  I  would  long  since  have 
cut  off  Lucius  Catiline,  had  it  been  at  the  risk,  not  only  of  my 
popularity,  but  even  of  my  life. 

There  is  no  nation  for  us  to  fear — no  king  who  can  make  war  on 
the  Roman  people.  All  foreign  affairs  are  tranquilized,  both  by 
land  and  sea,  by  the  valor  of  one  man  [Pompey].  Domestic  war 
alone  remains.  The  only  plots  against  us  are  within  our  own 
walls — the  danger  is  within — the  enemy  is  within.  We  must  war 
with  luxury,  with  madness,  with  wickedness.  For  this  war,  O 
citizens,  I  offer  myself  as  the  general.  I  take  on  myself  the 
enmity  of  profligate  men.  What  can  be  cured,  I  will  cure,  by 
whatever  means  it  may  be  possible.  What  must  be  cut  away,  I 
will  not  suffer  to  spread  to  the  ruin  of  the  republic.  Let  them  de- 
part or  let  them  stay  quiet ;  or  if  they  remain  in  the  city  and  in  the 
same  disposition  as  at  present,  let  them  expect  what  they  deserve. 

I  will  tell  you,  O  Romans,  of  what  classes  of  men  those  forces 
are  made  up,  and  then,  if  I  can,  I  will  apply  to  each  the  medicine 
of  my  advice  and  persuasion. 

There  is  one  class  of  them,  who,  with  enormous  debts,  have  still 
greater  possessions,  and  who  can  by  no  means  be  detached  from 
their  affection  to  them.  .  .  .  But  I  think  these  men  are  the  least 
of  all  to  be  dreaded,  because  they  can  either  be  persuaded  to 
abandon  their  opinions  or,  if  they  cling  to  them,  they  seem  to 
me  more  likely  to  form  wishes  against  the  republic  than  to  bear 
arms  against  it. 

There  is  another  class  of  them,  who,  although  they  are  harassed 
by  debt,  yet  are  expecting  supreme  power ;  they  wish  to  become 
masters.  ...  If  these  had  already  got  that  which  they  with  the 
greatest  madness  wish  for,  do  they  think  that  in  the  ashes  of 
the  city  and  blood  of  the  citizens,  which  in  their  wicked  and 
infamous  hearts  they  desire,  they  will  become  consuls  and  dic- 
tators and  even  kings?  Do  they  not  see  that  they  are  wishing 
for  that  which,  if  they  were  to  obtain  it,  must  be  given  up  to  some 
fugitive  slave  or  to  some  gladiator? 

There  is  a  third  class,  already  touched  by  age,  but  still  vigor- 
ous from  constant  exercise.  .  .  .  These  are  colonists,  who,  from 
becoming  possessed  of  unexpected  and  sudden  wealth,  boast  them- 
selves extravagantly  and  insolently  ;  these  men,  while  they  build 
like  rich  men,  while  they  delight  in  farms,  in  litters,  in  vast 
families  of  slaves,  in  luxurious  banquets,  have  incurred  such  great 


66  CLASSIC  LATIN  COURSE  IN  ENGLISH. 

debts,  that,  if  they  would  be  saved,  they  must  raise  Sylla  from  the 
dead.  .  .  .  Let  them  cease  to  be  mad,  and  to  think  of  proscrip- 
tions and  dictatorships;  for  such  a  horror  of  these  times  is 
ingrained  into  the  city,  that  not  even  men,  but  it  seems  to  me 
that  even  the  very  cattle,  would  refuse  to  bear  them  again. 

There  is  a  fourth  class,  various,  promiscuous,  and  turbulent ; 
...  not  so  much  active  soldiers  as  lazy  insolvents.  .  .  .  As  to 
these,  I  do  not  understand  why,  if  they  cannot  live  with  honor, 
they  should  wish  to  die  shamefully ;  or  why  they  think  they  shall 
perish  with  less  pain  in  a  crowd,  than  if  they  perish  by  them- 
selves. 

There  is  a  fifth  class,  of  parricides,  assassins ;  in  short,  of  all 
infamous  characters,  whom  I  do  not  wish  to  recall  from  Catiline, 
and  indeed  they  cannot  be  separated  from  him.  Let  them  perish 
in  their  wicked  war,  since  they  are  so  numerous  that  a  prison 
cannot  contain  them. 

There  is  a  last  class,  last  not  only  in  number  but  in  the  sort 
of  men  and  in  their  way  of  life;  the  especial  body-guard  of 
Catiline,  of  his  levying ;  ay,  the  friends  of  his  embraces  and  of  his 
bosom ;  whom  you  see  with  carefully-combed  hair,  glossy,  beard- 
less, or  with  well-trimmed  beards ;  with  tunics  with  sleeves,  or 
reaching  to  the  ankles;  clothed  with  veils,  not  with  robes,  all 
the  industry  of  whose  life,  all  the  labor  of  whose  watchfulness, 
is  expended  in  suppers  lasting  till  daybreak. 

On  the  one  side  are  fighting  modesty,  on  the  other,  wanton- 
ness; on  the  one,  chastity,  ou  the  other,  uncleanness;  on  the 
one,  honesty,  on  the  other,  fraud;  on  the  one,  piety,  on  the 
other,  wickedness ;  on  the  one,  consistency,  on  the  other,  insanity ; 
on  the  one,  honor,  on  the  other,  baseness ;  on  the  one,  continence, 
on  the  other,  lust;  in  short,  equity,  temperance,  fortitude,  pru- 
dence, all  the  virtues,  contend  against  iniquity  with  luxury,  against 
indolence,  against  rashness,  against  all  the  vices ;  lastly,  abundance 
contends  against  destitution,  good  plans  against  baffled  designs, 
wisdom  against  madness,  well-founded  hope  against  universal 
despair.  In  a  contest  and  war  of  this  sort,  even  if  the  zeal  of 
men  were  to  fail,  will  not  the  immortal  gods  compel  such  numer- 
ous and  excessive  vices  to  be  defeated  by  these  most  eminent 
virtues  ? 

Now  once  more  I  wish  those  who  have  remained  in  the  city,  and 
who,  contrary  to  the  safety  of  the  city  and  of  all  of  you,  have  been 
left  in  the  city  by  Catiline,  although  they  are  enemies,  yet  because 
they  were  born  citizens,  to  be  warned  again  and  again  by  me.  .  .  . 
If  any  one  stirs  in  the  city,  and  if  I  detect  not  only  any  .action,  but 


CICERO.  67 

any  attempt  or  design  against  the  country,  he  shall  feel  that 
there  are  in  this  city  vigilant  consuls,  eminent  magistrates,  a  brave 
senate,  arms,  and  prisons,  which  our  ancestors  appointed  as  the 
avengers  of  nefarious  and  convicted  crimes. 

.  .  .  An  internal  civil  war  the  most  cruel  and  terrible  in 
the  memory  of  man,  shall  be  put  an  end  to  by  me  alone  in  the 
robe  of  peace  acting  as  general  and  commander-in-chief.  ... 
And  this  I  promise  you,  O  Romans,  relying  neither  on  my  own 
prudence,  nor  on  human  counsels,  but  on  many  and  manifest 
intimations  of  the  will  of  the  immortal  gods ;  under  whose 
guidance  I  first  entertained  this  hope  and  this  opinion ;  who  are 
now  defending  their  temples  and  the  houses  of  the  city,  not  afar 
off,  as  they  were  used  to,  from  a  foreign  and  distant  enemy,  but 
here  on  the  spot,  by  their  own  divinity  and  present  help.  And 
you,  O  Romans,  ought  to  pray  to  and  implore  them  to  defend  from 
the  nefarious  wickedness  of  abandoned  citizens,  now  that  all 
the  forces  of  all  enemies  are  defeated  by  land  and  sea,  this  city 
which  they  have  ordained  to  be  the  most  beautiful  and  flourish- 
ing of  all  cities. 

Look  back  and  observe  the  sagacity  with  which  the  orator, 
instead  of  assuming  the  attitude  of  self-defense,  begins  by 
boldly  making  a  merit  of  his  conduct. 

The  third  oration  is  interesting.  It  has  even  something 
of  the  interest  of  plot  described,  as  well  as  of  eloquence.  It  is 
addressed  to  the  people,  and  it  details,  in  masterly  narra- 
tion, the  incidents  of  the  discovery  of  full  documentary 
evidence  against  the  conspirators.  The  Al-lob/ro-ges  had  at 
the  moment  an  embassy  in  Borne,  with  whom  the  conspirators 
had  tampered.  But  Cicero  received  from  these  Gallic  en- 
voys a  hint  of  the  approaches  made  to  them.  He  bade 
them  go  on  and  obtain  full  knowledge  of  the  plans  of  the  con- 
spirators. This  they  did.  At  Cicero's  suggestion  they 
demanded  credentials  in  black  and  white  which  they 
might  carry  home  to  their  nation.  Such  were  supplied, 
and  then,  as  they  were  withdrawing  homeward,  they  were 
arrested  and  brought  back  with  their  papers  in  possession. 
The  evidence  was  so  unquestionable  that  the  conspirators 
could  not  gainsay  it,  and  one  of  them  made  a  clean  breast 


68  CLASSIC  LATIN  COURSE  IN  ENGLISH. 

of  the  whole  crime.  Such  in  brief  is  what  Cicero  in  this 
admirable  popular  speech  recites  to  his  hearers. 

The  subject  of  the  fourth  speech  delivered  in  the  senate 
is  the  disposal  to  be  made  of  the  conspirators  now  in  custody. 
Cicero  spoke  in  favor  of  the  capital  sentence.  His  weight  and 
eloquence  prevailed.  The  conspirators  were  strangled  by 
torchlight  in  their  underground  dungeon.  The  suppression  of 
this  conspiracy  was  an  occasion  of  triumph  to  Cicero.  No 
civilian's  glory  had  ever  been  so  great  at  Rome.  He  was 
saluted  Pater  Patrice,  "  Father  of  his  Fatherland." 

From  this  fourth  speech  we  extract  briefly  to  show,  ac- 
cording to  Cicero's  statement  of  them,  the  tenor  of  Caesar's 
remarks.  The  advice  of  Silanus,  consul  elect,  to  put  the 
conspirators  to  death,  is  contrasted  with  that  of  Julius  Csesar, 
thus: 

The  other  [Caesar]  feels  that  death  was  not  appointed  by  the 
immortal  gods  for  the  sake  of  punishment,  but  that  it  is  either 
a  necessity  of  nature  or  a  rest  from  toils  and  miseries ;  therefore 
wise  men  have  never  met  it  unwillingly,  brave  men  have  often  en- 
countered it  even  voluntarily.  But  imprisonment,  and  that  too 
perpetual,  was  certainly  invented  for  the  extraordinary  punish- 
ment of  nefarious  wickedness:  therefore  he  proposes  that  they 
should  be  distributed  among  the  municipal  towns.  This  proposi- 
tion seems  to  have  in  it  injustice  if  you  command  it,  difficulty 
if  you  request  it ;  however,  let  it  be  so  decreed  if  you  like. 

For  I  will  undertake  and,  as  I  hope,  I  shall  find  one  who  will  not 
think  it  suitable  to  his  dignity  to  refuse  what  you  decide  on  for 
the  sake  of  the  universal  safety.  He  imposes,  besides,  a  severe 
punishment  on  the  burgesses  of  the  municipal  town  if  any  of 
the  prisoners  escape ;  he  surrounds  them  with  the  most  terrible 
guard,  and  with  everything  worthy  of  the  wickedness  of  abandoned 
men.  And  he  proposes  to  establish  a  decree  that  no  one  shall 
be  able  to  alleviate  the  punishment  of  those  whom  he  is  condem- 
ning, by  a  vote  of  either  the  senate  or  the  people.  He  takes 
away  even  hope,  which  alone  can  comfort  men  in  their  miseries ; 
besides  this,  he  votes  that  their  goods  should  be  confiscated ;  he 
leaves  life  alone  to  these  infamous  men,  and,  if  he  had  taken 
that  away,  he  would  have  relieved  them  by  one  pang  of  many 
tortures  of  mind  and  body  and  of  all  the  punishment  of  their 
crimes.  Therefore,  that  there  might  be  some  dread  in  life  to 


CICERO.  69 

the  wicked,  men  of  old  have  believed  that  there  were  some  punish- 
ments of  that  sort  appointed  for  the  wicked  in  the  shades  below ; 
because  in  truth  they  perceived  that  if  this  were  taken  away  death 
itself  would  not  be  terrible. 

Now,  O  conscript  fathers,  I  see  what  is  my  interest.  If  you 
follow  the  opinion  of  Caius  Caesar  (since  he  has  adopted  this  path  in 
the  republic,  which  is  accounted  the  popular  one)  perhaps  as  he 
is  the  author  and  promoter  of  this  opinion,  the  popular  violence 
will  be  less  to  be  dreaded  by  me.  If  you  adopt  the  other  opinion,  I 
know  not  but  I  am  likely  to  have  more  trouble.  Still,  let  the 
advantage  of  the  republic  outweigh  the  consideration  of  my 
danger.  For  we  have  from  Caius  Caesar,  as  his  own  dignity  and  as 
the  illustrious  character  of  his  ancestors  demanded,  a  vote  as 
a  hostage  of  his  lasting  good  will  to  the  republic.  It  has  been 
clearly  seen  how  great  is  the  difference  between  the  lenity  of  dem- 
agogues, and  a  disposition  really  attached  to  the  interests  of  the 
people. 

This  most  gentle  and  merciful  man  does  not  hesitate  to  commit 
Publius  Lentulus  to  eternal  darkness  and  imprisonment,  and  he 
establishes  a  law  to  all  posterity  that  no  one  shall  be  able  to  boast  of 
alleviating  his  punishment  or  hereafter  to  appear  a  friend  of  the 
people  to  the  destruction  of  the  Roman  people.  He  adds,  also,  the 
confiscation  of  their  goods,  so  that  want  also  and  beggary  may 
be  added  to  all  the  torments  of  mind  and  body.  Wherefore,  if  you 
decide  on  this,  you  give  me  a  companion  in  my  address  dear 
and  acceptable  to  the  Roman  people. 

The  comity  proper  between  senators  is  carefully  observed  in 
Cicero's  answer  to  Csesar.  Nay,  you  feel  that  Cicero  is  con- 
scious of  dealing  now  with  a  man  whose  popular  influence 
is  at  least  to  be  respected,  perhaps  to  be  feared.  How 
much  self-control,  combined  with  how  much  fine  courage,  was 
displayed  by  Cicero,  if,  within  himself,  he  indeed  knew,  what 
Mommsen  supposes  to  be  certainly  true,  that  Csesar  was 
all  the  time,  by  secret  encouragement,  in  complicity  with 
the  conspirators  !  In  that  case,  however,  you  cannot  acquit 
Cicero  of  being  crafty  at  some  expense  of  candor.  We  can 
seldom  be  quite  sure,  in  a  great  game  of  statesmanship  or 
diplomacy,  what  motives  behind  the  mask  of  decent  ap- 
pearance really  work  in  the  breasts  of  those  engaged  in  it. 

The  range  of  Cicero's  eloquence  is  so  wide,  that  adequately 


70  CLASSIC  LATIN  COURSE  IN  ENGLISH. 

to  represent  it  would  require  a  whole  volume  as  large  as 
this.  There  is,  however,  one  other  cycle  of  Cicero's  speeches 
too  important  in  itself,  and  too  important  for  illustration 
of  the  orator's  genius  and  character,  not  to  be  spoken  of  here, 
and  exemplified  in  at  least  a  few  extracts. 

We  refer  to  the  fourteen  orations  that  go  by  the  name  of  the 
philippics — a  style  of  designation  imitated  and  appropriated 
from  the  famous  harangues  of  Demosthenes  against  Philip 
of  Macedon.  Cicero's  philippics  were  directed  against  Mark 
Antony.  They  were  delivered,  part  of  them  to  the  senate,  and 
part  of  them  before  the  people,  within  the  period  following 
Julius  Caesar's  death  during  which  it  remained  doubtful  what 
course  of  public  policy  would  be  pursued  by  young  Octavian 
(Caesar  Augustus),  named  in  Caesar's  will  as  his  political 
heir.  Cicero  still  hoped  that  the  destined  future  emperor 
might  be  induced  to  restore  the  republic. 

Antony  meantime,  who,  as  having  been  Csesar's  colleague  in 
nominal  consulship,  had  succeeded  to  the  place  of  chief  actual 
power  in  the  state,  was  manifestly  taking  measures  to  confirm 
himself  in  a  kind  of  imperial  usurpation.  He  had  been  in  ne- 
gotiation and  collusion  with  the  assassins — Liberators,  it  was 
the  fashion  to  call  them — but  he  was  evidently  beginning  to 
revive  Caesarism  by  such  contrivances  of  administration  as,  for 
that  purpose,  he  dared  adventure  upon.  He  convened  the 
senate  to  confer  some  additional  divine  honors  on  the  dead 
dictator.  That  day's  session,  Cicero,  though  specially  re- 
quested by  Antony  to  do  so,  did  not  attend.  He  was  against 
the  measure  proposed.  Antony,  provoked,  talked  threaten- 
ingly in  the  senate  about  pulling  down  the  recusant  ex-consul's 
house  about  his  ears. 

The  next  day,  Cicero  went  to  the  senate  and,  Antony  in 
his  turn  being  absent,  delivered  a  speech  in  dignified,  mod- 
erate, but  quite  firm,  opposition  to  Antony.  Provoked  again, 
Antony  replied  in  a  violent  personal  invective.  To  this, 


CICERO.  71 

Cicero  prudently  abstained  from  replying  in  the  senate ;  but 
he  wrote  out  a  speech  in  response,  which,  having  previously 
sent  it  in  private  to  some  of  his  friends,  he  finally  published  as 
the  second  philippic.  This  second  philippic,  conceived  and 
composed  as  if  addressed  in  immediate  reply  to  Antony  before 
the  senate,  constitutes  what  is  generally  esteemed  the  master- 
piece of  Cicero's  eloquence. 

The  contrast  in  tone,  in  style,  in  matter,  which  this 
philippic,  in  common  with  the  rest  of  the  series,  presents 
to  the  other  orations  of  Cicero,  not  excepting  even  the  vehe- 
ment onslaughts  upon  Catiline,  is  more  than  merely  strong, 
it  is  violent.  You  could  hardly  believe  it  possible  for  the 
author  of  the  courtly  orations  for  the  poet  Archias,  for  the 
Manilian  Law,  for  Marcus  Marcellus,  to  produce  discourse 
so  indignant,  so  impetuous,  so  direct,  so  hard-hitting,  nay, 
so  savage,  as  the  orations  against  Antony.  The  flowing 
robes  are  flung  off,  and  the  orator  speaks  like  an  athlete, 
rather  like  a  warrior,  stripped  to  hew  his  antagonist  to  the 
ground. 

Antony  was,  undoubtedly,  one  of  the  most  shamelessly 
profligate  of  men.  Otherwise  such  accusations  as  Cicero 
brought  must  have  reacted  with  his  audience  against  the 
bringer. 

We  must  content  ourselves  with  brief  citations.  Here  is  the 
opening  of  the  speech  [we  condense  by  omissions] : 

To  what  destiny  of  mine,  O  conscript  fathers,  shall  I  say  that  it  is 
owing,  that  none  for  the  last  twenty  years  has  been  an  enemy 
to  the  republic  without  at  the  same  time  declaring  war  against  me? 
Nor  is  there  any  necessity  for  naming  any  particular  person ; 
you  yourselves  recollect  instances  in  proof  of  my  statement.  They 
have  all  hitherto  suffered  severer  punishments  than  I  could  have 
wished  for  them;  but  I  marvel  that  you,  O  Antonius,  do  not 
fear  the  end  of  those  men  whose  conduct  you  are  imitating.  And 
in  others  I  was  less  surprised  at  this.  None  of  these  men  of  former 
times  was  a  voluntary  enemy  to  me ;  all  of  them  were  attacked  by 
me  for  the  sake  of  the  republic.  But  you,  who  have  never  been  in- 


72  CLASSIC  LATIN  COURSE  IN  ENGLISH. 

jured  by  me,  not  even  by  a  word,  in  order  to  appear  more  audacious 
than  Catiline,  more  frantic  than  Clodius,  have  of  your  own  accord 
attacked  me  with  abuse. 

Did  he  think  that  it  was  easiest  to  disparage  me  in  the  senate  ?  a 
body  which  has  borne  its  testimony  in  favor  of  many  most  illustri- 
ous citizens  that  they  governed  the  republic  well,  but  in  favor 
of  me  alone,  of  all  men,  that  I  preserved  it.  Or  did  he  wish  to  con- 
tend with  me  in  a  rivalry  of  eloquence  ?  This,  indeed,  is  an  act  of 
generosity !  for  what  could  be  a  more  fertile  or  richer  subject 
for  me  than  to  have  to  speak  in  defense  of  myself,  and  against 
Antonius  ? 

In  that  complaint  [Cicero's  first  philippic],  mournful  indeed 
and  miserable,  but  still  unavoidable  for  a  man  of  that  rank  in 
which  the  senate  and  people  of  Rome  have  placed  me,  what  did 
I  say  that  was  insulting  ?  that  was  otherwise  than  moderate  ?  that 
was  otherwise  than  friendly  ?  and  what  instance  was  it  not  of 
moderation  to  complain  of  the  conduct  of  Marcus  Antonius,  and 
yet  to  abstain  from  any  abusive  expressions  ?  especially  when  you 
had  scattered  abroad  all  relics  of  the  republic ,  when  everything 
was  on  sale  at  your  house  by  the  most  infamous  traffic ;  when  you 
confessed  that  those  laws  which  had  never  been  promulgated 
had  been  passed  with  reference  to  you  and  by  you ;  when  you,  be- 
ing augur,  had  abolished  the  auspices,  being  consul,  had  taken 
away  the  power  of  interposing  the  veto ;  when  you  were  escorted 
in  the  most  shameful  manner  by  armed  guards ;  when,  worn 
out  with  drunkenness  and  debauchery,  you  were  every  day 
performing  all  sorts  of  obscenities  in  that  chaste  house  of  yours. 
But  I,  as  if  I  had  to  contend  against  Marcus  Crassus,  with  whom  I 
have  had  many  severe  struggles,  and  not  with  a  most  worthless 
gladiator,  while  complaining  in  dignified  language  of  the  state 
of  the  republic,  did  not  say  one  word  which  could  be  called 
personal.  Therefore,  to-day  I  will  make  him  understand  with 
what  great  kindness  he  was  then  treated  by  me. 

Since,  O  conscript  fathers,  I  have  many  things  which  I  may 
say  both  in  my  own  defense  and  against  Marcus  Antonius,  one 
thing  I  ask  you,  that  you  will  listen  to  me  with  kindness  while 
I  am  speaking  for  myself;  the  other  I  will  insure  myself,  namely, 
that  you  shall  listen  to  me  with  attention  while  speaking  against 
him.  At  the  same  time  also,  I  beg  this  of  you :  that  if  you 
have  been  acquainted  with  my  moderation  and  modesty  through- 
out my  whole  life,  and  especially  as  a  speaker,  you  will  not, 
when  to-day  I  answer  this  man  in  the  spirit  in  which  he  has 


CICERO.  73 

attacked  me,  think  that  I  have  forgotten  my  usual  character. 
I  will  not  treat  him  as  a  consul,  for  he  did  not  treat  me  as  a  man  of 
consular  rank ;  and  although  he  in  no  respect  deserves  to  be 
considered  a  consul,  whether  we  regard  his  way  of  life  or  his 
principle  of  governing  the  republic  or  the  manner  in  which  he  was 
elected,  I  am  beyond  all  dispute  a  man  of  consular  rank. 

On  one  occasion  [addressed  directly  as  to  Antony]  you  attempted 
even  to  be  witty.  O  ye  good  gods,  how  little  did  that  attempt 
suit  you !  And  yet  you  are  a  little  to  be  blamed  for  your  failure 
in  that  instance,  too.  For  you  might  have  got  some  wit  from  your 
wife,  who  was  an  actress.  "Arms  to  the  gown  must  yield." 
[Cedant  arma  togos — "  let  military  yield  to  civil  power."  This  is  a 
bit  of  verse  from  Cicero  himself;  Antony  had  evidently  been  rally- 
ing his  antagonist  on  it ;  Cicero  meant  it  in  praise  of  his  own 
exploits.]  Well,  have  they  not  yielded  ?  But  afterward  the  gown 
yielded  to  your  arms.  Let  us  inquire,  then,  whether  it  was  better 
for  the  arms  of  wicked  men  to  yield  to  the  freedom  of  the  Ro- 
man people  or  that  our  liberty  should  yield  to  your  arms.  Nor 
will  I  make  any  further  reply  to  you  about  the  verses.  I  will  only 
say  briefly  that  you  do  not  understand  them,  nor  any  other 
literature  whatever. 

The  free  and  frequent  change,  on  Cicero's  part,  from  ad- 
dressing the  senate  to  addressing  Antony,  indicates  the  highly 
dramatic  play  of  delivery  in  which  the  orator  must  have  been 
accustomed  to  indulge.  Antony,  it  seems,  inculpated  Cicero 
as  in  complicity  with  the  assassins  of  Csesar.  Cicero  points 
out  the  inconsistency  of  Antony's  praising,  as  Antony  did,  the 
conspirators,  and,  at  the  same  time,  blaming  Cicero.  Cicero, 
however,  shows,  as  to  himself,  that  though  he  approved 
the  deed  when  the  deed  had  been  done,  he  could  have  had 
no  part  in  the  doing  of  the  deed,  since,  were  it  otherwise, 
his  name  must  have  been  associated  with  it  in  the  popular 
fame  of  so  illustrious  an  exploit.  Evidently,  at  that  point 
of  time,  it  was  the  prevailing  opinion  at  Rome  that  Caesar's 
murder  was  a  praiseworthy  act  of  liberation  for  the  state. 
Cicero  goes  over  Antony's  life  and  finds  abundant  matter 
of  invective : 

Let  us  speak  of  his  meaner  descriptions  of  worthlessness.     You, 


74  CLASSIC  LATIN  COUP-SB  IN  ENGLISH. 

with  those  jaws  of  yours,  and  those  sides  of  yours,  and  that 
strength  of  body  suited  to  a  gladiator,  drank  such  quantities  of 
wine  at  the  marriage  of  Hippia,  that  you  were  forced  to  vomit 
the  next  day  in  the  sight  of  the  Roman  people.  O  action  disgrace- 
ful not  merely  to  see,  but  even  to  hear  of!  If  this  had  happened  to 
you  at  supper  amid  those  vast  drinking-cups  of  yours  who 
would  not  have  thought  it  scandalous  ?  But  in  an  assembly  of  the 
Roman  people,  a  man  holding  a  public  office,  a  master  of  the  horse, 
to  whom  it  would  have  been  disgraceful  even  to  belch,  vomiting 
filled  his  own  bosom  and  the  whole  tribunal  with  fragments 
of  what  he  had  been  eating  reeking  with  wine. 

Cicero  comes  to  an  incident  in  Antony's  career  the  men- 
tion of  which,  as  the  author's  lively  imagination  prompts 
him,  writing  in  his  closet,  to  suppose,  makes  Antony  start : 

He  does  not  dissemble,  O  conscript  fathers :  it  is  plain  that  he 
is  agitated ;  he  perspires ;  he  turns  pale.  Let  him  do  what  he 
pleases,  provided  he  is  not  sick,  and  does  not  behave  as  he  did 
in  the  Minucian  colonnade.  .  .  .  Your  colleague  [Julius  Caesar] 
was  sitting  in  the  rostra,  clothed  in  a  purple  robe,  on  a  golden 
chair,  wearing  a  crown.  You  mount  the  steps;  you  approach 
his  chair  (if  you  were  a  priest  of  Pan,  you  ought  to  have  recollected 
that  you  were  consul  too) ;  you  display  a  diadem.  There  is  a  groan 
over  the  whole  forum.  Where  did  the  diadem  come  from  ?  For 
you  had  not  picked  it  up  when  lying  on  the  ground,  but  you 
had  brought  it  from  home  with  you,  a  premeditated  arid  deliber- 
ately planned  wickedness.  You  placed  the  diadem  on  his  head 
amid  the  groans  of  the  people ;  he  rejected  it  amid  great  applause. 
You  then  alone,  O  wicked  man,  were  found,  both  to  advise  the 
assumption  of  kingly  power,  and  to  wish  to  have  him  for  your 
master  who  was  your  colleague ;  and  also  to  try  what  the  Roman 
people  might  be  able  to  bear  and  to  endure.  Moreover,  you 
even  sought  to  move  his  pity ;  you  threw  yourself  at  his  feet 
as  a  suppliant ;  begging  for  what?  to  be  a  slave  ?  You  might  beg  it 
for  yourself,  when  you  had  lived  in  such  a  way  from  the  time 
that  you  were  a  boy  that  you  could  bear  everything  and  would  find 
no  difficulty  in  being  a  slave ;  but  certainly  you  had  no  commis- 
sion from  the  Roman  people  to  try  for  such  a  thing  for  them. 

O  how  splendid  was  that  eloquence  of  yours,  when  you 
harangued  the  people  stark  naked  1  What  could  be  more  foul 
than  this  ?  more  shameful  than  this  ?  more  deserving  of  every  sort 
of  punishment  ?  Are  you  waiting  for  me  to  prick  you  more  ?  This 
that  I  am  saying  must  tear  you  and  bring  blood  enough,  if  you 
have  any  feeling  at  all.  I  am  afraid  that  I  may  be  detracting  from 


CICERO.  7& 

the  glory  of  some  most  eminent  men.  Still  my  indignation  shall 
find  a  voice.  What  can  be  more  scandalous  than  for  that  man  to  live 
who  placed  a  diadem  on  a  man's  head,  when  every  one  confesses 
that  that  man  was  deservedly  slain  who  rejected  it?  And, 
moreover,  he  caused  it  to  be  recorded  in  the  annals,  under  the 
head  of  Lupercalia,  "  That  Marcus  Antonius,  the  consul,  by 
command  of  the  people,  had  offered  the  kingdom  to  Caius 
Ceesar,  perpetual  dictator ;  and  that  Csesar  had  refused  to  ac- 
cept it." 

Cicero  again  alludes  to  the  killing  of  Csesar  : 

The  name  of  peace  is  sweet ;  the  thing  itself  is  most  salutary. 
But  between  peace  and  slavery  there  is  a  wide  difference.  Peace  is 
liberty  in  tranquillity :  slavery  is  the  worst  of  all  evils— to  be 
repelled,  if  need  be,  not  only  by  war,  but  even  by  death.  But 
if  those  deliverers  of  ours  have  taken  themselves  away  out  of 
our  sight,  still  they  have  left  behind  the  example  of  their  conduct. 
They  have  done  what  no  one  else  had  done.  Brutus  pursued  Tar- 
quinius  with  war,  who  was  a  king  when  it  was  lawful  for  a  king  to 
exist  in  Rome.  Spurius  Cassius,  Spurius  Mselius,  and  Marcus 
Manlius  were  all  slain  because  they  were  suspected  of  aiming 
at  regal  power.  These  are  the  first  men  who  have  ever  ventured  to 
attack,  sword  in  hand,  a  man  not  aiming  at  regal  power,  but 
actually  reigning.  And  their  action  is  not  only  of  itself  a  glorious 
and  godlike  exploit,  but  it  is  also  one  put  forth  for  our  imita- 
tion; especially  since  by  it  they  have  acquired  such  glory  as 
appears  hardly  to  be  bounded  by  heaven  itself.  For  although 
in  the  very  consciousness  of  a  glorious  action  there  is  a  certain 
reward,  still  I  do  not  consider  immortality  of  glory  a  thing  to 
be  despised  by  one  who  is  himself  mortal. 

Contrasting  Antony  with  Julius  Caesar,  Cicero  says  : 

In  that  man  were  combined  genius,  method,  memory,  literature, 
prudence,  deliberation,  and  industry.  He  had  performed  exploits, 
in  war  which,  though  calamitous  for  the  republic,  were  never- 
theless mighty  deeds.  Having  for  many  years  aimed  at  being 
a  king,  he  had  with  great  labor  and  much  personal  danger 
accomplished  what  he  intended.  He  had  conciliated  the  ignorant 
multitude  by  presents,  by  monuments,  by  largesses  of  food,  and  by 
banquets ;  he  had  bound  his  own  party  to  him  by  rewards,  his  ad- 
versaries by  the  appearances  of  clemency.  Why  need  I  say  much 
on  such  a  subject?  He  had  already  brought  a  free  city,  partly 
by  fear,  partly  by  patience,  into  a  habit  of  slavery. 


76  CLASSIC  LATIN  COURSE  IN  ENGLISH. 

With  him  I  can,  indeed,  compare  you  as  to  your  desire  to  reign  ; 
but  in  all  other  respects  you  are  in  no  degree  to  be  compared  to 
him.  But  from  the  many  evils  which  by  him  have  been  burned 
into  the  republic  there  is  still  this  good,  that  the  Roman  people  has 
now  learned  how  much  to  believe  every  one,  to  whom  to  trust 
itself,  and  against  whom  to  guard.  Do  you  never  think  on  these 
things?  And  do  you  not  understand  that  it  is  enough  for  brave 
men  to  have  learned  how  noble  a  thing  it  is  as  to  the  act,  how 
grateful  it  is  as  to  the  benefit  done,  how  glorious  as  to  the  fame  ac- 
quired, to  slay  a  tyrant?  When  men  could  not  bear  him,  do 
you  think  they  will  bear  you  ?  Believe  me,  the  time  will  come 
when  men  will  race  with  one  another  to  do  this  deed  and  when 
no  one  will  wait  for  the  tardy  arrival  of  an  opportunity. 

Consider,  I  beg  you,  Marcus  Antonius,  do  some  time  or  other 
consider  the  republic :  think  of  the  family  of  which  you  are  born, 
not  of  the  men  with  whom  you  are  living.  Be  reconciled  to  the  re- 
public. However,  do  you  decide  on  your  conduct.  As  to  mine,  I 
myself  will  declare  what  that  shall  be.  I  defended  the  republic  as 
a  young  man ;  I  will  not  abandon  it  now  when  I  am  old.  I  scorned 
the  sword  of  Catiline ;  I  will  not  quail  before  yours.  No,  I  will 
rather  cheerfully  expose  my  own  person,  if  the  liberty  of  the 
city  can  be  restored  by  my  death. 

May  the  indignation  of  the  Roman  people  at  last  bring  forth 
what  it  has  been  so  long  laboring  with.  In  truth,  if  twenty  years 
ago  in  this  very  temple  I  asserted  that  death  could  not  come 
prematurely  upon  a  man  of  consular  rank,  with  how  much  more 
truth  must  I  now  say  the  same  of  an  old  man  ?  To  me,  indeed,  O 
conscript  fathers,  death  is  now  even  desirable,  after  all  the  honors 
which  I  have  gained  and  the  deeds  which  I  have  done.  I  only 
pray  for  these  two  things :  One,  that  dying  I  may  leave  the  Roman 
people  free.  No  greater  boon  than  this  can  be  granted  me  by 
the  immortal  gods.  The  other,  that  every  one  may  meet  with 
a  fate  suitable  to  his  deserts  and  conduct  toward  the  republic. 

Thus  the  second  philippic  of  Cicero  ends. 

Our  own  great  jurist  and  orator,  Rufus  Choate,  speaking  on 
the  general  subject  of  "The  Eloquence  of  Revolutionary 
Periods,"  enters,  at  one  point,  without  notice  upon  a  mag- 
nificent version,  his  own,  no  doubt,  of  a  representative  passage 
of  Cicero's  patriot  oratory,  as  follows : 

Lay  hold  on  this  opportunity  of  our  salvation,  conscript  fathers — 
by  the  immortal  gods  I  conjure  you !  — and  remember  that  you  are 
the  foremost  men  here,  in  the  council-chamber  of  the  whole  earth. 


CICERO.  77 

Give  one  sign  to  the  Roman  people  that  even  as  now  they  pledge 
their  valor,  so  you  pledge  your  wisdom  to  the  crisis  of  the  state. 
But  what  need  that  I  exhort  you  ?  Is  there  one  so  insensate  as  not 
to  understand  that  if  we  sleep  over  an  occasion  such  as  this,  it 
is  ours  to  bow  our  necks  to  a  tyranny  not  proud  and  cruel  only, 
but  ignominious— but  sinful  ?  Do  ye  not  know  this  Antony  ?  Do 
ye  not  know  his  companions?  Do  ye  not  know  his  whole  house — 
insolent, — impure, — gamesters, — drunkards  ?  To  be  slaves  to  such 
as  he,  to  such  as  these,  were  it  not  the  fullest  measure  of  misery, 
conjoined  with  the  fullest  measure  of  disgrace?  If  it  be  so — may 
the  gods  avert  the  omen — that  the  supreme  hour  of  the  republic  has 
come,  let  us,  the  rulers  of  the  world,  rather  fall  with  honor, 
than  serve  with  infamy !  Born  to  glory  and  to  liberty,  let  us  hold 
these  bright  distinctions  fast  or  let  us  greatly  die !  Be  it,  Romans, 
our  first  resolve  to  strike  down  the  tyrant  and  the  tyranny.  Be 
it  our  second  to  endure  all  things  for  the  honor  and  liberty  of 
our  country.  To  submit  to  infamy  for  the  love  of  life  can  never 
come  within  the  contemplation  of  a  Roman  soul !  For  you,  the 
people  of  Rome — you,  whom  the  gods  have  appointed  to  rule 
the  world — for  you  to  own  a  master  is  impious. 

You  are  in  the  last  crisis  of  nations.  To  be  free  or  to  be  slaves — 
that  is  the  question  of  the  hour.  By  every  obligation  of  man 
or  states  it  behooves  you  in  this  extremity  to  conquer — as  your  de- 
votion to  the  gods  and  your  concord  among  yourselves  encourage 
you  to  hope — or  to  bear  all  things  but  slavery.  Other  nations  may 
bend  to  servitude ;  the  birthright  and  the  distinction  of  the  people 
of  Rome  is  liberty. 

Our  previous  extracts  were  from  the  best  translations  ac- 
cessible, but  the  rendering  which  Choate  thus  gives  of  a 
passage  of  Cicero  may  serve  to  show  what  a  different  power 
there  is  in  Cicero's  eloquence  according  as  he  is  translated 
or  not  by  a  man  with  the  sense  in  him,  and  the  capacity, 
of  style.  With  Mr.  Choate's  fine  bit  of  translation,  let  us  con- 
sider our  presentation  of  Cicero  as  orator  closed. 

Now  for  Cicero's  letters.  And  first  an  extract  from  one 
written  to  his  friend  Atticus  about  a  visit  of  omnipotent 
Caesar  to  Cicero's  house.  It  needs  to  be  explained  that 
there  was  apparently  a  tacit  playful  understanding  between 
Cicero  and  his  half-Greek  friend  Atticus,  that  they  should 
freely  interlard  the  text  of  their  correspondence  with  phrases 


78  CLASSIC  LATIN  COURSE  IN  ENGLISH. 

borrowed  from  Greek.  Mr.  Jeans,  our  translator,  has,  with 
excellent  judgment,  sought  to  reproduce  the  effect  for  us, 
by  putting  the  Greek  used  by  Cicero  into  an  equivalent  of 
French.  Those  readers  of  ours  who  know  French  will  readily 
excuse  it  if,  for  the  benefit  of  those  readers  of  ours  who  do  not, 
we  hint  in  English  the  meaning  of  the  few  foreign  phrases 
that  here  occur : 

Oh,  what  a  formidable  guest  to  have  had !  and  yetje  rfen  suispas 
fdcM  [I  am  not  sorry],  he  was  in  such  a  very  agreeable  mood.  But 
after  his  arrival  at  Philippus's  house,  on  the  evening  of  the  second 
day  of  the  Saturnalia,  the  whole  establishment  was  so  crowded 
with  soldiers  that  even  the  room  where  Caesar  himself  was  to  dine 
could  hardly  be  kept  clear  from  them ;  it  is  a  fact  that  there 
were  two  thousand  men !  Of  course  I  was  nervous  about  what 
might  be  the  case  with  me  next  day,  and  so  Cassius  Barba  came  to 
my  assistance ;  he  gave  me  some  men  on  guard.  The  camp  was 
pitched  out  of  doors ;  my  villa  was  made  secure.  On  the  third  day 
of  the  Saturnalia  he  stayed  at  Philippus's  till  near  one,  and  ad- 
mitted nobody  (accounts  with  Balbus,  I  suppose) ;  then  took  a 
walk  on  the  beach.  After  two  to  the  bath :  then  he  heard  about 
Ma-mur'ra;  he  made  no  objection.  He  was  then  rubbed  down 
with  oil,  and  dinner  began.  It  was  his  intention  se  faire  vomir  [to 
take  a  vomit],  and  consequently  he  ate  and  drank  sans  peur 
[freely],  and  with  much  satisfaction.  And  certainly  everything 
was  very  good,  and  well  served  ;  nay  more,  I  may  say  that 

"  Though  the  cook  was  good, 
'Twas  Attic  salt  that  flavored  best  the  food." 

There  were  three  dining  rooms  besides,  where  there  was  a 
very  hospitable  reception  for  the  gentlemen  of  his  suite  ;  while  the 
inferior  class  of  freedmen  and  slaves  had  abundance  at  any  rate ; 
for  as  to  the  better  class,  they  had  a  more  refined  table.  In  short,  I 
think  I  acquitted  myself  like  a  man.  The  guest,  however,  was  not 
the  sort  of  person  to  whom  you  would  say,  "  I  shall  be  most 
delighted  if  you  will  come  here  again  on  your  way  back  "  ;  once  is 
enough.  As  to  our  conversation,  it  was  mostly  like  that  of  two 
savants  [men  of  letters] ;  nothing  was  said  au  grand  serieux  [in 
a  very  serious  vein].  Well,  I  will  only  say  that  he  was  greatly 
pleased  and  seemed  to  enjoy  himself.  He  told  me  that  he  should 
be  one  day  at  Puteoli,  and  the  next  near  Baise.  Here  you  have  the 
story  of  his  visit — or  shall  I  say  "billeting"? — which,  I  told 
you,  was  a  thing  one  would  shrink  from,  but  did  not  give  much 
trouble.  I  am  for  Tusculum  next  after  a  short  stay  here. 


CICERO.  79 

When  he  was  passing  Dolabella's  house,  but  nowhere  else,  the 
whole  guard  was  paraded  in  arms  on  either  side  of  him  as  he  rode ; 
I  have  it  from  Nicias. 

The  allusion  about  Mamurra  Is  obscure.  Generally  it  is 
taken  to  mean  certain  scathing  epigrams  on  Caesar  and 
Mamurra,  from  the  pen  of  the  poet  Catullus.  "He  never 
changed  countenance,"  is  Middleton's  rendering,  in  place 
of  Mr.  Jeans's  <c  he  made  no  objection." 

The  taking  of  a  vomit  before  and  after  meals  was  a  not 
uncommon  Roman  habit  of  the  times.  It  was  not  only 
an  epicure's  expedient  for  better  enjoying,  and  enjoying  more 
safely,  the  pleasures  of  the  table,  but  it  was  a  current  medical 
prescription  for  improving  the  health.  Caesar's  purposed 
post-prandial  vomit  (ante-prandial,  Middletou  makes  it) 
was  not  therefore  an  exceptional  bit  of  epicurism.  Bather, 
it  is  to  be  regarded  as  good  guestship  on  his  part.  Caesar 
thus  intimated  to  Cicero  that  he  expected  a  good  dinner, 
and  was  intending  to  do  his  host's  fare  full  dictatorial  jus- 
tice. 

The  quotation  in  verse  is  from  Lucilius.  Cicero  has  it 
again  in  his  De  Finibus.  "  Or  shall  I  say  « billeting '  ?  "  is 
Cicero's  way  of  implying  to  Atticus  that  Caesar's  visit,  having 
been  accepted  rather  than  invited,  might  be  looked  upon  as  in 
the  nature  of  a  military  quartering  of  himself  by  Csesar  on  his 
host's  hospitality.  We  may  venture  however  to  guess,  both 
from  Cicero's  characteristic  genial  good  nature  and  from  his 
shrewd  eye  to  the  main  chance,  that  Csesar  was  not  suffered  to 
feel  any  lack  of  seeming-spontaneous  cordiality,  in  that 
day's  entertainment. 

A  letter  of  Sulpicius,  included  in  Mr.  Jeans's  selection  from 
the  correspondence  of  Cicero,  is  one  of  consolation  to  his  illus- 
trious friend  on  the  death  of  his  daughter  Tullia.  This  is 
a  famous  literary  antique.  It  admirably  shows  what  was 
the  best  that  ancient  paganism  could  offer  in  the  way  of 


80  CLASSIC  LATIN  COURSE  IN  ENGLISH. 

comfort  to  souls  bereaved.    Here  is  a  specimen  extract  from 
the  letter  of  Sulpicius : 

A  reflection  which  was  such  as  to  afford  me  no  light  consolation  I 
cannot  but  mention  to  you,  in  the  hope  that  it  may  be  allowed 
to  contribute  equally  toward  mitigating  your  grief.  As  I  was 
returning  from  Asia,  when  sailing  from  J£-gi'na  in  the  direction  of 
Meg'a-ra,  I  began  to  look  around  me  at  the  various  places  by 
which  I  was  surrounded.  Behind  me  was  jEgina,  in  front,  Megara ; 
on  the  right,  the  Piraeus,  on  the  left,  Corinth :  all  of  these  towns, 
that  in  former  days  were  so  magnificent,  are  now  lying  prostrate 
and  in  ruins  before  one's  eyes.  "  Alas !  "  I  began  to  reflect  to  my- 
self, "we  poor  feeble  mortals,  who  can  claim  but  a  short  life  in 
comparison,  complain  as  though  a  wrong  was  done  us  if  one  of  our 
number  dies  in  the  course  of  nature  or  has  fallen  on  the  field 
of  battle;  and  here  in  one  spot  are  lying  stretched  out  before 
me  the  corpses  of  so  many  cities !  Servius,  why  do  you  not  control 
yourself,  and  remember  that  that  is  man's  life  into  which  you  have 
been  born?"  Believe  me,  1  found  myself  in  no  small  degree 
strengthened  by  these  reflections.  Let  me  advise  you,  if  you  agree 
with  me,  to  put  the  same  prospect  before  your  eyes  too.  How 
lately  at  one  and  the  same  time  have  many  of  our  most  illustrious 
men  fallen!  how  grave  an  encroachment  has  been  made  on  the 
rights  of  the  sovereign  people  of  Rome !  every  country  in  the 
world  has  been  convulsed :  if  the  frail  life  of  a  helpless  woman  has 
gone  too,  who  being  born  to  our  common  lot  must  have  died 
in  a  few  short  years,  even  if  the  time  had  not  come  for  her  now, 
are  you  thus  utterly  stricken  down? 

Cicero  replied  as  follows  to  the  tender  of  sympathy  and  con- 
solation from  Sulpicius : 

I  join  with  you,  my  dear  Sulpicius,  in  wishing  that  you  had  been 
in  Rome  when  this  most  severe  calamity  befell  me.  I  am  sensible 
of  the  advantage  I  should  have  received  from  your  presence,  and  I 
had  almost  said  your  equal  participation  of  my  grief,  by  having 
found  myself  somewhat  more  composed  after  I  had  read  your 
letter.  It  furnished  me,  indeed,  with  arguments  extremely  proper 
to  soothe  the  anguish  of  affliction  and  evidently  flowed  from  a 
heart  that  sympathized  with  the  sorrows  it  endeavored  to  assuage. 
But  although  I  could  not  enjoy  the  benefit  of  your  own  good  offices 
in  person,  I  had  the  advantage,  however,  of  your  son's,  who  gave 
me  proof,  by  every  tender  assistance  that  could  be  contributed 
upon  so  melancholy  an  occasion,  how  much  he  imagined  that 
he  was  acting  agreeably  to  your  sentiments  when  he  thus  dis- 


CICERO.  81 

covered  the  affection  of  his  own.  More  pleasing  instances  of  his 
friendship  I  have  frequently  received,  but  never  any  that 
were  more  obliging.  As  to  those  for  which  I  am  indebted 
to  yourself,  it  is  not  only  the  force  of  your  reasonings  and 
the  very  considerable  share  you  take  in  my  afflictions,  that  have 
contributed  to  compose  my  mind ;  it  is  the  deference,  likewise, 
which  I  always  pay  to  the  authority  of  your  sentiments.  For, 
knowing,  as  I  perfectly  do,  the  superior  wisdom  with  which 
you  are  enlightened,  I  should  be  ashamed  not  to  support  my 
distresses  in  the  manner  you  think  I  ought;  I  will  acknowl- 
edge, nevertheless,  that  they  sometimes  almost  entirely  over- 
come me ;  and  I  am  scarce  able  to  resist  the  force  of  my  grief 
when  I  reflect,  that  I  am  destitute  of  those  consolations  which 
attended  others,  whose  examples  I  propose  to  my  imitation.  Thus 
Quintus  Maximus  lost  a  son  of  consular  rank  and  distinguished  by 
many  brave  and  illustrious  actions ;  Lucius  Paulus  was  deprived 
of  two  sons  in  the  space  of  a  single  week ;  and  your  relation 
Gallus,  together  with  Marcus  Cato,  had  both  of  them  the  unhappi- 
ness  to  survive  their  respective  sons,  who  were  endowed  with 
the  highest  abilities  and  virtues.  Yet  these  unfortunate  parents 
lived  in  times  when  the  honors  they  derived  from  the  republic 
might,  in  some  measure,  alleviate  the  weight  of  their  domestic 
misfortunes.  But  as  for  myself,  after  having  been  stripped  of 
those  dignities  you  mention,  and  which  I  had  acquired  by  the  most 
laborious  exertion  of  my  abilities,  I  had  one  only  consolation 
remaining — and  of  that  I  am  now  bereaved  I  I  could  no  longer  di- 
vert the  disquietude  of  my  thoughts,  by  employing  myself  in 
the  causes  of  my  friends  or  the  business  of  the  state ;  for  I  could  no 
longer,  with  any  satisfaction,  appear  either  in  the  forum  or  the 
senate.  In  short,  I  justly  considered  myself  as  cut  off  from  the 
benefit  of  all  those  alleviating  occupations  in  which  fortune  and 
industry  had  qualified  me  to  engage.  But  I  considered,  too,  that 
this  was  a  deprivation  which  I  suffered  in  common  with  yourself 
and  some  others ;  and,  whilst  I  was  endeavoring  to  reconcile  my 
mind  to  a  patient  endurance  of  those  ills,  there  was  one  to  whose 
tender  offices  I  could  have  recourse,  and  in  the  sweetness  of  whose 
conversation  I  could  discharge  all  the  cares  and  anxiety  of  my 
heart.  But  this  last  fatal  stab  to  my  peace  has  torn  open  those 
wounds  which  seemed  in  some  measure  to  have  been  tolerably 
healed :  for  I  can  now  no  longer  lose  my  private  sorrows  in  the 
prosperity  of  the  commonwealth,  as  I  was  wont  to  dispel  the 
uneasiness  I  suffered  upon  the  public  account,  in  the  happiness 
I  received  at  home.  Accordingly,  I  have  equally  banished  myself 
from  my  house  and  from  the  public, — as  finding  no  relief  in  eithor 
from  the  calamities  I  lament  in  both.  It  is  this,  therefore,  that 


82  CLASSIC  LATIN  COURSE  IN  ENGLISH. 

heightens  my  desire  of  seeing  you  here ;  as  nothing  can  afford  me 
a  more  effectual  consolation  than  the  renewal  of  our  friendly  inter- 
course ;  a  happiness  which  I  hope,  and  am  informed  indeed,  that  I 
shall  shortly  enjoy.  Among  the  many  reasons  I  have  for  im- 
patiently wishing  your  arrival,  one  is,  that  we  may  previously 
concert  together  our  scheme  of  conduct  in  the  present  conjunc- 
ture— which,  however,  must  now  be  entirely  accommodated  to 
another's  will.  This  person  [Caesar],  it  is  true,  is  a  man  of  great 
abilities  and  generosity,  and  one,  if  I  mistake  not,  who  is  by 
no  means  my  enemy — as  I  am  sure  he  is  extremely  your  friend. 
Nevertheless,  it  requires  much  consideration,  I  do  not  say  in  what 
manner  we  shall  act  with  respect  to  public  affairs,  but  by  what 
methods  we  may  best  obtain  his  permission  to  retire  from  them. 
Farewell. 

We  go  from  Cicero  the  letter-writer  to  Cicero  the  philos- 
opher. 

In  his  quality  of  philosopher,  Cicero  wrote  on  morals.  "  De 
Officiis"  ["Concerning  Duties"]  is  the  title  of  his  great 
treatise  on  this  subject.  A  comparative  estimate  of  Cicero's 
De  Officiis  and  of  his  philosophical  writings  in  general,  pre- 
sented by  Luther,  will  be  read  with  interest.  Out  of  this 
great  man's  teeming  "table  talk"  so-called,  happily  in 
such  large  measure  preserved  to  us,  we  take  the  following 
extract : 

"  Cicero  is  greatly  superior  to  Aristotle  in  philosophy  and  in 
teaching.  The  Officia  of  Cicero  are  greatly  superior  to  the  Ethica 
of  Aristotle ;  and  although  Cicero  was  involved  in  the  cares  of 
government  and  had  much  on  his  shoulders,  he  greatly  excels 
Aristotle,  who  was  a  lazy  ass,  and  cared  for  nothing  but  money  and 
possessions,  and  comfortable,  easy  days.  Cicero  handled  the 
greatest  and  best  questions  in  his  philosophy,  such  as :  Is  there  a 
God  ?  What  is  God  ?  Does  he  give  heed  to  the  actions  of  men  ? 
Is  the  soul  immortal  ?  etc.  Aristotle  is  a  good  and  skillful  dialec- 
tician, who  has  observed  the  right  and  orderly  method  in  teaching, 
but  the  kernel  of  matters  he  has  not  touched.  Let  those  who  wish 
to  see  a  true  philosophy  read  Cicero.  Cicero  was  a  wise  and  indus- 
trious man,  and  he  suffered  much  and  accomplished  much.  I 
hope  that  our  Lord  God  will  be  generous  to  him  and  the  like  of 
him.  Of  this  we  are  not  entitled  to  speak  with  certainty. 
Although  the  revealed  word  must  abide :  '  He  who  believeth,  and 
is  baptized,  shall  be  saved '  (Mark  xvi.,  16),  yet  it  is  possible  that 


CICERO.  83 

God  may  dispense  with  it  in  the  case  of  the  heathen.  There  will 
be  a  new  heaven  and  a  new  earth,  much  larger  than  the  present ; 
and  he  can  give  to  every  one  according  to  his  good  pleasure.' 

Cicero  was  an  eminently  practical  man,  a  man  of  affairs, 
a  man  of  real  life.  The  practical  interest  accordingly  with 
him  always  dominated  the  speculative.  The  De  Offlciis  is 
by  no  means  conceived  as  an  exhaustive  philosophical  treatise 
on  the  subject  of  ethics.  It  is  rather  a  manual  of  maxims, 
reasoned  and  elucidated  maxims,  adapted  to  guide  the  conduct 
of  a  young  man  seeking  to  be  a  good  citizen  in  the  Roman 
state  and  a  candidate  there  for  political  preferment. 

The  work  is  divided  into  three  books.  The  first  book  treats 
the  right,  the  second,  the  expedient,  the  third,  the  relation 
between  the  right  and  the  expedient.  The  main  interest 
of  the  De  Officiis  centers  in  the  third  book,  the  book  in  which 
the  author  treats  of  apparent  conflicts  between  the  expedi- 
ent and  the  right.  Let  us  go  to  that  book  ;  but  let  us,  while 
going,  cull  here  and  there  an  interesting  thing  on  the  way. 

"  The  first  demand  of  justice,"  says  Cicero,  "  is  that  no  one 
do  harm  to  another,  unless  provoked  by  injury."  We  italicize 
the  exceptive  clause — the  clause  will  occur  a  second  time 
toward  the  end  of  the  treatise — as  constituting  a  point  of  con- 
trast between  the  De  Offlciis  and  the  New  Testament. 

Julius  Caesar  (dead  at  the  date  of  this  composition)  is 
more  than  once  made  by  Cicero  to  do  duty  as  an  example 
by  way  of  warning.  Generosity,  as  well  as  justice,  is,  accord- 
ing to  Cicero,  a  demand  of  morality.  But  the  lavish  munif- 
icence of  Caesar  was  not  to  be  accounted  generosity.  Caesar 
had  taken  wrongfully  what  he  bestowed  magnificently  ;  and 
"  nothing,"  insists  Cicero,  "  is  generous  that  is  not  at  the 
same  time  just." 

Cicero  himself  was  rich,  but  hardly  rich  with  such  a 
spirit  as  to  be  condemned  by  his  own  sentiment,  expressed 
in  the  following  words  : 


84  CLASSIC  LATIN   COUBSE  IN   ENGLISH. 

Nothing  shows  so  narrow  and  small  a  mind  as  the  love  of  riches ; 
nothing  is  more  honorable  and  magnificent  than  to  despise  money, 
if  you  have  it  not — if  you  have  it,  to  expend  it  for  purposes  of 
beneficence  and  generosity. 

When,  however,  Cicero  immediately  went  on,  "  The  greed 
of  fame  also  must  be  shunned,"  perhaps  he  was,  whether 
he  knew  it  or  not,  fairly  hit  by  a  boomerang  return  upon 
himself  of  his  own  weapon. 

"One  person,"  Cicero  teaches,  "ought,  while  another  per- 
son, under  the  same  circumstances,  ought  not,  to  commit 
suicide."  Elsewhere  in  his  writings,  he  makes  suicide 
wrong. 

Is  not  this  that  follows  almost  like  the  apostle  Paul 
giving  instruction  to  the  Corinthian  Christians  about  the 
use  of  the  various  supernatural  "gifts"? 

It  is  better  to  speak  fluently,  if  wisely,  than  to  think,  no 
matter  with  what  acuteness  of  comprehension,  if  the  power  of 
expression  be  wanting;  for  thought  begins  and  ends  in  itself, 
while  fluent  speech  extends  its  benefit  to  those  with  whom  we 
are  united  in  fellowship. 

Cicero,  as  from  the  foregoing  might  be  inferred,  insists 
strongly  on  "altruism" — in  the  form  of  making  self- 
indulgence  in  study  and  culture  severely  subordinate  to 
activities  that  may  tend  to  the  good  of  one's  fellow- 
creatures. 

That  is  a  wholesome  inculcation,  in  which  Cicero,  discuss- 
ing the  expedient,  teaches  his  son  that,  even  for  his  own  sake, 
he  ought  to  seek  to  be  loved.  He  draws  warning  example 
again,  anonymously  this  time,  from  Caesar,  and  Ennius  is 
quoted  (not  for  the  first  time  in  this  treatise)  : 

But  of  all  things  nothing  tends  so  much  to  the  guarding  and 
keeping  of  resources  as  to  be  the  object  of  affection  ;  nor  is  any- 
thing more  foreign  to  that  end  than  to  be  the  object  of  fear.  En- 
nius says  most  fittingly : 

"  Hate  follows  fear ;  and  plotted  ruin,  hate." 
It  has  been  lately  demonstrated,  if  it  was  before  unknown,  that 


CICERO.  85 

no  resources  can  resist  the  hatred  of  a  numerous  body.  It  is 
not  merely  the  destruction  of  this  tyrant  .  .  .  that  shows  how 
far  the  hatred  of  men  may  prove  fatal ;  but  similar  deaths  of  other 
tyrants,  hardly  one  of  whom  has  escaped  a  like  fate,  teach  this 
lesson. 

Cicero  constantly  enlivens  and  enlightens  his  ethical  page 
with  instance  drawn  by  the  writer  from  great  resources  of 
knowledge  in  possession.  Here  is  an  example  of  this 
method  of  his.  He  is  pointing  out  how  on  the  whole  it  is 
for  you  yourself  more  profitable  to  exercise  kindness  toward 
really  good  men  than  toward  men  simply  well  placed  in 
life: 

I  think  a  kindness  better  invested  with  good  men  than  with  men 
of  fortune.  In  fine,  we  should  endeavor  to  meet  the  claims  of 
those  of  every  class ;  but  if  it  come  to  a  competition  between  rival 
claimants  for  our  service,  Themistocles  may  be  well  quoted  as 
an  authority,  who,  when  asked  whether  he  would  marry  his 
daughter  to  a  good  poor  man,  or  to  a  rich  man  of  less  respect- 
able character,  replied,  "  I,  indeed,  prefer  the  man  who  lacks 
money  to  the  money  that  lacks  a  man." 

Cicero  holds  good  sound  doctrine  on  financial  questions. 
Repudiation  of  debt,  under  whatever  form  proposed,  and  with 
whatever  pretext,  excites  his  abhorrence.  He  has  his  thrust 
at  Julius  Caesar  again  : 

Nothing  holds  the  state  more  firmly  together  than  good  faith, 
which  cannot  possibly  exist  unless  the  payment  of  debts  is  obliga- 
tory. .  .  .  He,  indeed,  of  late  conqueror,  but  at  that  time 
conquered  [that  is,  when  Catiline's  conspiracy  was  suppressed — 
Cicero  assumes  Caesar,  deeply  in  debt  at  the  moment,  to 
have  taken  part  in  the  plot],  carried  out  what  he  had  then 
planned  after  he  had  ceased  to  have  any  personal  interest  in  it.  So 
great  was  his  appetite  for  evil-doing,  that  the  very  doing  of  evil 
gave  him  delight,  even  when  there  was  no  special  reason  for  it. 
From  this  kind  of  generosity,  then — the  giving  to  some  what  is 
taken  from  others — those  who  mean  to  be  guardians  of  the  state 
will  refrain,  and  will  especially  bestow  their  efforts,  that  through 
the  equity  of  the  laws  and  of  their  administration  every  man 
may  have  his  own  property  made  secure,  and  that  neither  the 
poorer  may  be  defrauded  on  account  of  their  lowly  condition, 


86  CLASSIC  LATIN  COURSE  IN  ENGLISH. 

nor  any  odium  may  stand  in  the  way  of  the  rich  in  holding  or 
recovering  what  belongs  to  them. 

The  third  book,  as  has  been  said,  is  occupied  with  the  re- 
lation of  the  right  to  the  expedient.  Cicero,  with  repetition 
and  with  emphasis,  insists  that  there  is  never  any  conflict  be- 
tween these  two — that  always  what  is  right  is  expedient, 
and  that  never  is  anything  expedient  which  is  not  right. 
But  he  draws  many  distinctions  and  admits  many  qualifica- 
tions. A  thing  generally  wrong  may,  under  certain  circum- 
stances, be  right.  He  instances  Brutus's  act  in  stabbing 
Csesar,  as  an  illustration  in  point : 

What  greater  crime  can  there  be  than  to  kill  not  only  a  man,  but 
an  intimate  friend?  Has  one,  then,  involved  himself  in  guilt 
by  killing  a  tyrant,  however  intimate  with  him?  This  is  not 
the  opinion  of  the  Roman  people,  who  of  all  deeds  worthy  of 
renown  regard  this  as  the  most  noble.  Has  expediency,  then, 
got  the  advantage  over  the  right?  Nay,  but  expediency  has  fol- 
lowed in  the  direction  of  the  right. 

It  is  the  Stoic  philosophy  that  Cicero  mainly  follows  in 
the  De  Officiis,  but,  as  disciple  also  of  Plato,  he  claims 
much  latitude  of  view  and  discussion.  Here  is  a  noble 
passage  that  will  recall  Paul's  ethics,  and  even  Paul's 
rhetoric : 

For  a  man  to  take  anything  wrongfully  from  another,  and  to  in- 
crease his  own  means  of  comfort  by  his  fellow-man's  discomfort,  is 
more  contrary  to  nature  than  death,  than  poverty,  than  pain,  than 
anything  else  that  can  happen  to  one's  body  or  his  external  condi- 
tion. In  the  first  place,  it  destroys  human  intercourse  and  society; 
for  if  we  are  so  disposed  that  every  one  for  his  own  gain  is  ready  to 
rob  or  outrage  another,  that  fellowship  of  the  human  race  which  is 
in  the  closest  accordance  with  nature  must  of  necessity  be  broken  in 
sunder.  As  if  each  member  of  the  body  were  so  affected  as  to  sup- 
pose itself  capable  of  getting  strength  by  appropriating  the  strength 
of  the  adjacent  member,  the  whole  body  must  needs  be  enfeebled 
and  destroyed,  so  if  each  of  us  seizes  for  himself  the  goods  of 
others,  and  takes  what  he  can  from  every  one  for  his  own  emolu- 
ment, the  society  and  intercourse  of  men  must  necessarily  be 
subverted. 

To  the  same  purport  again  : 


CICERO.  87 

This,  then,  above  all,  ought  to  be  regarded  by  every  one  as  an  es- 
tablished principle,  that  the  interest  of  each  individual  and  that  of 
the  entire  body  of  citizens  are  identical,  which  interest  if  any 
one  appropriate  to  himself  alone,  he  does  it  to  the  sundering  of  all 
human  intercourse.  ...  Those,  too,  who  say  that  account  is  to 
be  taken  of  citizens,  but  not  of  foreigners,  destroy  the  common 
sodality  of  the  human  race,  which  abrogated,  beneficence,  liber- 
ality, kindness,  justice,  are  removed  from  their  very  foundations. 

The  following  fine  anecdote  illustrates  Cicero's  open-minded 
hospitality  toward  what  he  found  good  in  other  nations  than 
the  Roman : 

The-mis'to-cles,  after  the  victory  in  the  Persian  war,  said  in 
a  popular  assembly,  that  he  had  a  plan  conducive  to  the  public 
good,  but  that  it  was  not  desirable  that  it  should  be  generally 
known.  He  asked  that  the  people  should  name  some  one  with 
whom  he  might  confer.  Aristi'des  was  named.  Themistocles 
said  to  him  that  the  fleet  of  the  Lacedaemonians,  which  was  drawn 
ashore  at  Gy-the'um,  could  be  burned  clandestinely,  and  if  that 
were  done,  the  power  of  the  Lacedaemonians  would  be  inevitably 
broken.  Aristides,  having  heard  this,  returned  to  the  assembly 
amidst  the  anxious  expectation  of  all,  and  said  that  the  measure 
proposed  by  Themistocles  was  very  advantageous,  but  utterly 
devoid  of  right.  Thereupon  the  Athenians  concluded  that  what 
was  not  right  was  not  expedient,  and  they  repudiated  the  entire 
plan  which  they  had  not  heard,  on  the  authority  of  Aristides. 

Several  cases  narrated  or  supposed  by  Cicero,  and  then 
considered  by  him  on  the  one  side  and  on  the  other — cases 
of  apparent  conflict  between  the  right  and  the  expedient — 
give  rise  to  discussion  at  his  hands  which  strikingly  shows 
to  what  height  of  moral  standard  the  conscience  of  man, 
unassisted  by  Divine  revelation,  could  attain.  The  now  so 
much  vaunted  ethics  of  Buddhism  suffer  cruelly  in  contrast 
with  Cicero's  De  Omciis. 

With  one  brief  sentence  more  from  this  remarkable  volume, 
we  end  our  extracts  from  the  De  Omciis  of  Cicero.  The 
sentence  is  one  which  sums  up,  in  a  single  blended  expression, 
at  once  the  strange  loftiness  and  the  strange  limitation  of 
Cicero's  moral  ideal : 


88  CLASSIC  LATIN  COURSE  IN  ENGLISH. 

If  one  would  only  develop  the  idea  of  a  good  man  wrapped  up  in 
his  own  mind,  he  would  then  at  once  tell  himself  that  he  is  a  good 
man  who  benefits  all  that  he  can,  and  does  harm  to  no  one  un- 
less provoked  by  injury. 

"Unless  provoked  by  injury"  !  The  wings  seemed  strong 
enough  to  raise  their  possessor  quite  clear  of  the  ground  ;  but, 
alas,  there  was  a  hopeless  clog  tied  fast  to  the  feet.  How 
easily  that  untaught  young  Judaean  to  be  born  a  generation 
later,  will  say  : 

"  Love  your  enemies,  bless  them  that  curse  you,  do  good 
to  them  that  hate  you,  and  pray  for  them  which  despite- 
fully  use  you  and  persecute  you." 

The  De  Senectute  (Concerning  Old  Age)  of  Cicero  is  an 
essay  such  almost  as  Addison,  for  example,  might  have  issued 
in  parts  continued  through  several  numbers  of  his  Spectator. 
It  is  a  charming  meditation  on  a  theme  that  Cicero's  time 
of  life  when  he  wrote  it  inclined  him  and  fitted  him  to 
make  the  subject  of  discourse.  It  was  probably  written  not 
far  from  the  date  of  the  composition  of  the  De  Offlciis.  The 
literary  form  is  that  of  a  dialogue  after  the  manner  of  Plato,  in 
which  Cato  the  Elder — an  idealized  and  glorified  man,  as 
Cicero  finely  misrepresents  the  sturdy  but  boorish  old  censor 
of  actual  history — is  the  chief  speaker.  It  is  the  gracious  per- 
sonality of  the  writer  himself,  rather  than  the  repellent, 
not  to  say  repulsive,  personality  of  the  historic  character 
represented,  which  diffuses  that  indescribable  charm  over  the 
exquisite  pages  of  the  De  Senectute.  Cicero  balances  the  good 
and  the  ill  of  old  age,  with  a  serene  and  suave  philosophy, 
which,  while  you  read,  makes  you  feel  as  if  it  would  be  a 
thing  delightful  to  grow  old.  We  take  a  single  passage,  only 
too  brief,  from  the  concluding  part  of  the  dialogue.  This  pas- 
sage will  be  found  to  disclose  something  of  the  spirit  in  which 
the  transmitted  influence  of  Socrates  and  Plato  enabled 
Cicero,  at  least  in  his  better,  his  more  transfigured,  mo- 


CICERO.  89 

ments,  to  contemplate  the  prospect  of  death.  It  forms  a  bland 
and  beautiful  contrast  to  the  hideous  squalor  of  the  old 
man  depicted  in  Juvenal's  satirical  portrait.  Cato  is  speaking 
to  his  younger  companions  in  conversation — sons  they  of  illus- 
trious sires.  He  alludes  to  a  son  of  his  own,  deceased, — "  my 
Cato,"  he  calls  him, — with  pathetic  reminiscence  reminding 
one  of  Burke's  uttered  sorrow  over  his  similar  bereavement, 
and  of  Webster's  over  his.  What  we  give  brings  the  dialogue 
to  its  end  : 

I  am  transported  with  desire  to  see  your  fathers  whom  I  revered 
and  loved ;  nor  yet  do  I  long  to  meet  those  only  whom  I  have 
known,  but  also  those  of  whom  I  have  heard  and  read,  and 
about  whom  I  myself  have  written.  Therefore  one  could  not 
easily  turn  me  back  on  my  lifeway,  nor  would  I  willingly,  like 
Pelias,  be  plunged  in  the  rejuvenating  caldron.  Indeed,  were  any 
god  to  grant  that  from  my  present  age  I  might  go  back  to  boyhood 
or  become  a  crying  child  in  the  cradle,  I  should  steadfastly  refuse ; 
nor  would  I  be  willing,  as  from  a  finished  race,  to  be  summoned 
back  from  the  goal  to  the  starting  point.  For  what  advantage 
is  there  in  life?  Or  rather,  what  is  there  of  arduous  toil  that  is 
wanting  to  it?  But  grant  all  that  you  may  in  its  favor,  it  still 
certainly  has  its  excess  or  its  fit  measure  of  duration.  I  am  not,  in- 
deed, inclined  to  speak  ill  of  life,  as  many  and  even  wise  men  have 
often  done,  nor  am  I  sorry  to  have  lived ;  for  I  have  so  lived  that  I 
do  not  think  that  I  was  born  to  no  purpose.  Yet  I  depart  from  life, 
as  from  an  inn,  not  as  from  a  home ;  for  nature  has  given  us  here  a 
lodging  for  a  sojourn,  not  a  place  of  habitation.  O  glorious  day, 
when  I  shall  go  to  that  divine  company  and  assembly  of  souls,  and 
when  I  shall  depart  from  this  crowd  and  tumult !  I  shall  go,  not 
only  to  the  men  of  whom  I  have  already  spoken,  but  also  to 
my  Cato,  than  whom  no  better  man  was  ever  born,  nor  one 
who  surpassed  him  in  filial  piety,  whose  funeral  pile  I  lighted, — 
the  office  which  he  should  have  performed  for  me, — but  whose 
soul,  not  leaving  me,  but  looking  back  upon  me,  has  certainly  gone 
into  those  regions  whither  he  saw  that  I  should  come  to  him. 
This  my  calamity  I  seemed  to  bear  bravely.  Not  that  I  endured  it 
with  an  untroubled  mind ;  but  I  was  consoled  by  the  thought 
that  there  would  be  between  us  no  long  parting  of  the  way  and 
divided  life.  For  these  reasons,  Scipio,  as  you  have  said  that 
you  and  Lselius  have  observed  with  wonder,  old  age  sits  lightly 
upon  me.  Not  only  is  it  not  burdensome ;  it  is  even  pleasant.  But 
if  I  err  in  believing  that  the  souls  of  men  are  immortal,  I  am  glad 


90  CLASSIC  LATIN  COURSE  IN  ENGLISH. 

thus  to  err,  nor  am  I  willing  that  this  error  in  which  I  delight  shall 
be  wrested  from  me  so  long  as  I  live ;  while  if  in  death,  as  some 
paltry  philosophers  think,  I  shall  have  no  consciousness,  the  dead 
philosophers  cannot  ridicule  this  delusion  of  mine.  But  if  we  are 
not  going  to  be  immortal,  it  is  yet  desirable  for  man  to  cease  living 
in  his  due  time ;  for  nature  has  its  measure,  as  of  all  other  things, 
so  of  life.  Old  age  is  the  closing  act  of  life,  as  of  a  drama,  and  we 
ought  in  this  to  avoid  utter  weariness,  especially  if  the  act  has  been 
prolonged  beyond  its  due  length.  I  had  these  things  to  say  about 
old  age,  which  I  earnestly  hope  that  you  may  reach,  so  that  you  can 
verify  by  experience  what  you  have  heard  from  me. 

We  feel  like  performing  an  act  of  expiation.  In  preceding 
pages,  we  gave  hard  measure  in  judgment  of  the  Roman 
character.  We  cannot  revoke  our  sentence  ;  for  our  sentence, 
we  think,  was  mainly  just.  But  we  should  like  to  strengthen 
our  recommendation  to  mercy.  Cicero,  both  by  what  he  him- 
self was,  and  by  noble  things  that  he  here  and  there  reports  of 
his  countrymen,  inclines  us,  willingly  persuaded,  to  relent 
from  our  extreme  severity.  They  were  a  great  race,  not  un- 
worthy of  their  fame, — those  ancient  Romans ;  and  Alpine 
flowers  of  moral  beauty  bloomed  amid  the  Alpine  snow 
and  ice  of  their  austere  pride,  their  matter-of-fact  selfishness. 

As  for  Tully,  his  glory  is  secure.  His  own  writings  are 
his  imperishable  monument.  Spoken  against  he  may  be,  but 
he  will  continue  to  be  read  ;  and  as  long  as  he  is  read,  he  will 
enjoy  his  triumph.  For  no  one  can  read  Cicero,  and  not  feel, 
in  the  face  of  whatever  faults  discovered,  irresistibly  pro- 
pitiated toward  him. 

If,  in  an  historic  view  of  Rome,  one  might  call  Caesar 
the  sun  of  Roman  history,  with  not  less  truth  certainly 
might  one  call  Cicero  the  sun  of  Roman  literature. 


CHAPTEE  VI. 

VIRGIL. 

NEXT  to  the  Iliad  of  Homer,  and  hardly  second  to  that,  the 
^Eneid  of  Virgil  is  the  most  famous  of  poems.  The  two 
poems,  like  the  two  poets,  are  joined  forever  in  an  inseparable 
comparison,  contrast,  and  fellowship  of  fame.  It  would, 
however,  be  right  that  Homer's  Odyssey,  not  less  than  his 
Iliad,  should  be  associated  in  thought  with  the  JEneid  of 
Virgil.  For  the  ^Eneid  partakes  quite  as  much  of  the  charac- 
ter of  the  Odyssey  as  it  does  of  the  character  of  the  Iliad.  It 
is,  in  fact,  a  composite  reproduction  of  both  those  poems,  Vir- 
gil's poetic  invention  consisting  rather  in  a  cunning  of  com- 
position and  harmony  to  blend  the  Iliad  and  the  Odyssey 
into  one  new  whole,  an  authentic  creation  of  the  Roman 
poet's  proper  genius — Virgil's  invention,  we  say,  consisting 
rather  in  this,  than  in  power  to  produce  really  original 
material  of  his  own. 

The  literary  history  of  the  JEneid  is  remarkable.  There 
has,  in  fact,  happened  no  parenthesis  of  neglect  in  the 
long  sentence  of  study  and  approval  which  posterity  has 
pronounced  on  the  genius  and  fame  of  this  fortunate  poet. 
For  it  is  Virgil's  good  fortune,  not  less  than  it  is  his  merit, 
that  he  is  so  safely  and  universally  famous.  Or  possibly 
his  fame  belongs  in  part  to  the  man  as  distinct  from  the  poet. 
For  Virgil  had  what  has  been  called  the  genius  to  be  loved. 

This  simple  fact  about  his  character,  that  he  was  lovable, 
together  with  the  complementary  fact  about  his  life,  that 

91 


92  CLASSIC  LATIN  COURSE  IN  ENGLISH. 

he  was  loved,  is  the  most  important  thing  that  we  know 
of  Virgil  the  man.  Publius  Virgilius  Maro  was  born  (70  B.  C.) 
a  country  boy  in  the  hamlet  of  Andes  (Northern  Italy), 
near  Mantua — whence  "  the  Mantuan  "  has  become  a  designa- 
tion for  him.  He  grew  to  early  manhood  in  the  rustic  region 
of  his  birth.  His  little  farm  was  not  little  enough  to  escape 
confiscation  when  the  .discharged  legionaries  of  Octavius 
(Augustus)  were  to  be  furnished  with  settlements  of  land 
to  keep  them  quiet  and  contented.  Virgil  had  already  won 
some  friend  at  court  who  now  proved  influential  enough  to 
get  back  again  for  him,  from  the  grace  of  Augustus,  his 
confiscated  patrimony. 

There  is  a  pretty  story  told  of  Virgil's  composing  a  couplet 
of  verses  in  praise  of  the  emperor,  and  posting  them  secretly 
and  anonymously  on  the  palace  gate.  Augustus,  having 
had  the  good  taste  to  be  pleased  with  the  lines,  made  an  effort 
to  discover  the  author.  Virgil's  modesty  kept  him  in  the 
background,  until  some  unscrupulous  fellow  thought  it  safe  to 
claim  the  verses  for  his  own.  The  impostor  was  handsomely 
rewarded.  Virgil  at  this  was  so  much  vexed  that  he  took 
measures  to  redress  himself.  With  all  his  modesty  and  all  his 
genius,  Virgil  seems  not  to  have  wanted  a  certain  thrifty 
knack  for  making  his  way  in  the  world.  His  present  con- 
trivance, however,  was  the  contrivance  of  a  poet,  as  well  as  of 
a  man  of  sense.  Under  the  original  distich  he  wrote  an 
additional  verse,  running 

I  made  these  lines,  another  took  the  praise, 

together  with  the  first  words  of  a  verse  to  follow — which  same 
first  words  were  written  four  times,  in  form  and  order  as  if  be- 
ginning four  successive  verses  purposely  left  unfinished. 
Here  was  a  puzzle  and  a  mystery.  Augustus  condescended  to 
require  that  the  lines  should  be  completed.  Several  attempts 
to  complete  them  ignominiously  failed.  Virgil  at  last  revealed 


VIRGIL.  93 

himself  as  the  author,  and  finished  the  lines.    They  read  as 
follows  : 

Thus  you  not  for  yourselves  build  nests,  O  birds ; 
Thus  you  not  for  yourselves  bear  fleeces,  flocks  ; 
Thus  you  not  for  yourselves  make  honey,  bees ; 
Thus  you  not  for  yourselves  draw  plows,  O  oxen. 

The  neat  symmetrical  look  of  the  verses  is  necessarily  lost  in 
an  English  rendering.  It  is  needless  to  say  that  the  fortune 
of  the  poet  was  made. 

Virgil  was,  it  is  believed,  a  man  of  exceptionally  pure  life, 
for  a  Roman  of  his  time.  His  poetry  agrees  with  this  estimate 
of  his  morals.  Toward  the  close  of  his  life,  he  lived  chiefly  at 
Naples,  Par-then/o-pe,  as  it  used  to  be  called.  He  ended 
his  peaceful  and  prosperous  life  in  his  fifty-first  year,  a  <very 
well-to-do  man.  He  was  buried,  according  to  Roman  custom, 
by  the  wayside.  They  still  point  out  the  spot  to  the  tourist. 
It  lies  on  the  road  leading  to  Puteoli,  out  from  Naples. 

Virgil's  works  consist  of  three  classes  of  poems.  The  order 
of  production  must  be  exactly  inverted  to  give  the  order  of 
comparative  importance.  That  is,  Virgil's  poetic  achievement 
formed  a  regular  climax  to  its  close.  He  was  still,  after  finish- 
ing the  jEneid,  younger  than  Milton  was  when  he  began 
his  Paradise  Lost.  Finishing,  we  say  ;  but,  according  to 
the  poet's  own  standard,  the  vEneid  never  was  finished.  It  is 
even  reported  that  one  of  his  parting  directions  was  to 
have  the  manuscript  of  the  poem  burned.  Augustus  inter- 
vened to  prevent  the  act  of  destruction. 

We  had  better  let  our  own  order  of  treatment  follow  Virgil's 
order  of  production.  First,  then,  of  Virgil's  pastoral  poems. 

These  are  called  sometimes  bucolics  (Greek  for  "pastorals," 
which  latter  term  is  Latin),  and  sometimes  eclogues  (Greek 
for  "  select  pieces  ").  There  are  in  all  ten  eclogues  of  Virgil 
now  extant.  They  vary  somewhat  in  length,  averaging  about 
eighty  lines  each.  They  are  written  in  the  same  meter  as  that 


94  CLASSIC  LATIN  COURSE  IN  ENGLISH. 

of  the  JSneid,  dactylic  hexameter.  The  idea  of  such  poems  is 
derived  from  a  Greek  original.  Theocritus  in  particular  was 
Virgil's  master  in  this  species  of  composition.  The  pupil, 
however,  puts  into  some  of  his  eclogues  what  he  found  no 
hint  of  anywhere  in  his  master.  This  is  pre-eminently  the 
case  with  the  "  Pollio,"  so-called,  which  is  short  enough  to 
be  presented  in  full.  The  "Pollio"  happens  to  be  the  piece 
least  truly  pastoral  in  its  quality  of  all  Virgil's  pastoral 
poems.  However — nay,  for  that  very  reason — it  is  at  the  same 
time  the  most  highly  characteristic,  not,  to  be  sure,  of  the 
eclogues  as  bucolics,  but  of  the  eclogues  as  purely  conventional 
productions  of  an  artificial  age,  and  of  a  true  poet  rendered 
artificial  by  the  influences  surrounding  him. 

The  "Pollio"  has  for  ostensible  subject  the  birth  of  a 
marvelous  boy,  variously  supposed  to  be  son  of  Antony,  son  of 
Pollio,  son  of  Augustus — even,  by  retrospective  license  on  the 
poet's  part,  to  be  Augustus  himself.  The  terms  of  allusion  to 
this  offspring,  and  of  description  of  a  blessed  state  of  things 
to  accompany  and  follow  his  birth,  are,  at  points,  singularly 
coincident  with  prophecies  of  Holy  Writ  concerning  Jesus. 
The  date  of  the  poem  is  startlingly  near  that  of  the  nativity  of 
our  Saviour.  One  can  easily  conceive  in  reading  it  that  we 
have  here  an  articulate  utterance  of  the  unconscious  desire 
of  all  nations  for  a  Redeemer.  In  it,  the  Sibyl  is  spoken  of  by 
Virgil  as  having  foretold  this  happy  age.  Fragments  still  ex- 
ist alleged  to  be  authentic  parts  of  the  Sibylline  oracles.  But 
we  cannot  be  sure.  Those  oracles,  whatever  they  originally 
were,  have  been  tampered  with,  for  reasons  of  state  and  of 
church,  until  nothing  of  them  remains  that  is  unquestionably 
genuine.  That  old  Latin  hymn,  so  familiar  to  us  all,  the  Dies 

Irse,  has  a  line, 

Teste  David  cum  Sibylla, 

—"David,  along  with  the  Sibyl,  bearing  witness  "—which 
keeps  the  idea  of  a  Sibylline  prophecy  concerning  Jesus  fresh 


VIRGIL.  95 

in   modern   recollection.      Cuma  was  the  Sibyl's  dwelling- 
place. 

Here,  then,  is  Virgil's  "  Pollio."  We  use  the  prose  transla- 
tion of  Professor  Conington,  of  whose  fruitful  labors  on  Virgil 
we  shall  hereafter  speak.  The  Muses  of  Sicily,  you  will  ob- 
serve, are  invoked.  Virgil  thus  acknowledges  or  rather 
proclaims,  that  he  derives  his  pastoral  verse  from  Theocritus,  a 
Sicilian  Greek,  of  Syracuse  : 

POLLIO. 

Muses  of  Sicily,  let  us  strike  a  somewhat  louder  chord.  It  is  not 
for  all  that  plantations  have  charms,  or  groundling  tamarisks.  If 
we  are  to  sing  of  the  woodland,  let  the  woodland  rise  to  a  consul's 
dignity. 

The  last  era  of  the  song  of  Cuma  has  come  at  length :  the  grand 
file  of  the  ages  is  being  born  anew ;  at  length  the  virgin  is  return- 
ing to  the  reign  of  Saturn ;  at  length  a  new  generation  is  descending 
from  heaven  on  high.  Do  but  thou  smile  thy  pure  smile  on  the 
birth  of  the  boy  who  shall  at  last  bring  the  race  of  iron  to  an 
end,  and  bid  the  golden  race  spring  up  all  the  world  over — thou 
Lucina — thine  own  Apollo  is  at  length  on  his  throne.  In  thy 
consulship  it  is — in  thine,  Pollio — that  this  glorious  time  shall  come 
on,  and  the  mighty  months  begin  their  march.  Under  thy  con- 
duct, any  remaining  trace  of  our  national  guilt  shall  become  void, 
and  release  the  world  from  the  thraldom  of  perpetual  fear.  He 
shall  have  the  life  of  the  gods  conferred  on  him,  and  shall  see  gods 
and  heroes  mixing  together,  and  shall  himself  be  seen  of  them,  and 
with  his  father's  virtues  shall  govern  a  world  at  peace. 

For  thee,  sweet  boy,  the  earth,  of  her  own  unforced  will,  shall 
pour  forth  a  child's  first  presents — gadding  ivy  and  foxglove  every- 
where, and  Egyptian  bean  blending  with  the  bright  smiling 
acanthus.  Of  themselves,  the  goats  shall  carry  home  udders  dis- 
tended with  milk;  nor  shall  the  herds  fear  huge  lions  in  the 
way.  Of  itself,  thy  grassy  cradle  shall  pour  out  flowers  to 
caress  thee.  Death  to  the  serpent,  and  to  the  treacherous  plant 
of  poisoned  juice.  Assyrian  spices  shall  spring  up  by  the  wayside. 

But  soon  as  thou  shalt  be  of  an  age  to  read  at  length  of  the  glories 
of  heroes  and  thy  father's  deeds,  and  to  acquaint  thyself  with  the 
nature  of  manly  work,  the  yellow  of  the  waving  corn  shall  steal 
gradually  over  the  plain,  and  from  briers,  that  know  naught  of 
culture,  grapes  shall  hang  in  purple  clusters,  and  the  stubborn 
heart  of  oak  shall  exude  dews  of  honey.  Still,  under  all  this  show, 
some  few  traces  shall  remain  of  the  sin  and  guile  of  old — such 


96  CLASSIC  LATIN  COURSE  IN  ENGLISH. 

as  may  prompt  men  to  defy  the  ocean  goddess  with  their  ships, 
to  build  towns  with  walls  around  them,  to  cleave  furrows  in  the  soil 
of  earth.  A  second  Tiphys  shall  there  be  in  those  days — a  second 
Argo  to  convey  the  flower  of  chivalry ;  a  second  war  of  heroes, 
too,  shall  there  be,  and  a  second  time  shall  Achilles  be  sent  in 
his  greatness  to  Troy. 

Afterward,  when  ripe  years  have  at  length  made  thee  man,  even 
the  peaceful  sailor  shall  leave  the  sea,  nor  shall  the  good  ship  of 
pine  exchange  merchandise — all  lands  shall  produce  all  things,  the 
ground  shall  not  feel  the  harrow,  nor  the  vineyard  the  pruning- 
hook ;  the  sturdy  plowman,  too,  shall  at  length  set  his  bullocks 
free  from  the  yoke ;  nor  shall  wool  be  taught  to  counterfeit  varied 
hues,  but  of  himself,  as  he  feeds  in  the  meadows,  the  ram  shall 
transform  his  fleece,  now  into  a  lovely  purple  dye,  now  into 
saffron-yellow — of  its  own  will,  scarlet  shall  clothe  the  lambs 
as  they  graze.  Ages  like  these,  flow  on !— so  cried  to  their  spindles 
the  Fates,  uttering  in  concert  the  fixed  will  of  destiny. 

Assume  thine  august  dignities — the  time  is  at  length  at  hand — 
thou  best-loved  offspring  of  the  gods,  august  scion  of  Jove  !  Look 
upon  the  world  as  it  totters  beneath  the  mass  of  its  overhanging 
dome— earth  and  the  expanse  of  sea  and  the  deep  of  heaven— look 
how  all  are  rejoicing  in  the  age  that  is  to  be !  O  may  my  life's  last 
days  last  long  enough,  and  breath  be  granted  me  enough  to  tell 
of  thy  deeds !  I  will  be  o'er-matched  in  song  by  none — not  by 
Or'pheus  of  Thrace,  nor  by  Linus  though  that  were  backed  by 
his  mother,  and  this  by  his  father — Orpheus  by  Cal-li'o-pe,  Linus 
by  Apollo  in  his  beauty.  Were  Pan  himself,  with  Arcady  looking 
on,  to  enter  the  lists  with  me,  Pan  himself,  with  Arcady  looking 
on,  should  own  himself  vanquished. 

Begin,  sweet  child,  with  a  smile,  to  take  notice  of  thy  mother.  .  . 

Pope's  "Messiah,  a  Sacred  Eclogue,  in  imitation  of  Virgil's 
Pollio,"  would  prove  interesting  read  in  comparison  with  its 
famous  Latin  original. 

In  the  Georgics,  we  have  a  poem  on  farming.  The  title 
itself,  Georgics,  means  farming,  from  ge  (Greek  for  "  earth," 
appearing  in  geography,  geology,  geometry)  and  ergo  (an  old 
Greek  root,  meaning  "  work  ").  The  object  of  the  poem  was  to 
encourage  agricultural  pursuits.  Augustus  desired  that  the  em- 
pire should  be  peace,  and  he  wanted  to  see  every  sword  turned 
into  a  sickle — that  is,  every  sword  but  his  own.  It  is  doubtful 
if  Virgil's  Georgics  ever  made  many  men  farmers,  or  made 


VIRGIL.  97 

many  farmers  better  farmers  than  they  were  before.  The 
theory  and  practice  of  farming  exhibited  are  hardly  up  to 
the  mark  of  the  present  scientific  times.  Quite  probably,  too, 
the  farmers  of  Virgil's  own  day  might  have  criticised  the 
poet's  suggestions  at  points.  However,  there  is  much  good 
sense  in  the  poem,  mingled  with  much  superstition.  The 
tenor  of  didactics  is  pleasantly  interrupted  by  occasional 
episode. 

The  Georgics  are  divided  into  four  books.  (The  verse  is 
dactylic  hexameter.)  The  first  book  treats  of  raising  what 
English  people  call  corn,  and  we  Americans  call  grain,  or, 
in  commercial  dialect,  cereal  crops.  The  second  book  has  the 
culture  of  fruits,  especially  of  the  grape,  for  its  subject.  The 
third  book  deals  with  the  breeding  and  treatment  of  farm  ani- 
mals. The  fourth  book  is  given  up  to  the  topic  of  the 
management  of  bees.  An  aggressive  religious  earnestness 
appears  throughout,  animating  the  author,  as  it  were  out  of 
time. 

Virgil,  in  his  Georgics,  as  in  all  his  other  poetry,  follows 
Greek  originals.  Hesiod — in  antiquity  and  in  traditionary 
character,  to  be  associated  with  Homer — has  a  poem,  not  very 
poetical,  entitled  "Works  and  Days,"  in  which,  after  giving  a 
legendary  account  of  the  history  of  the  earth,  he  proceeds 
to  furnish  farmers  with  practical  suggestions  about  their 
husbandry.  Virgil  draws  from  Hesiod.  To  other  Greek 
authors  Virgil  owes  an  obligation,  the  extent  of  which  it  is  no 
longer  possible  to  estimate. 

We  give  the  opening  lines,  containing,  first,  what  might  be 
called  the  argument  and  dedication,  and,  secondly,  the  invoca- 
tion. We  use  Dryden's  version — iambic  pentameters,  or 
heroics,  varied  from  uniformity  by  triplets,  frequently  re- 
placing couplets,  of  lines,  and  by  Alexandrines  occurring  at 
irregular  intervals,  whether  sometimes  through  defect  of  ear 
in  the  rhymer,  or  always  in  the  exercise  of  conscious  art  on 


98  CLASSIC  LATIN  COURSE  IN  ENGLISH. 

his  part,  it  might  be  a  doubtful  matter  to  determine.  The 
brevity  and  simplicity  of  the  argument,  as  also  of  the  dedica- 
tion, are  admirable  in  the  original.  The  length  and  multi- 
plicity, to  say  nothing  of  the  adulatory  blasphemy,  of  the  in- 
vocation, are  to  be  admired,  if  admired  at  all.  rather  for  the 
ingenuity  which  they  afford  opportunity  to  display,  than  for 
any  merit  of  a  higher  sort  exhibited.  The  idea  of  the  poet 
seems  to  have  been  to  muster  into  his  prayer  as  many  of 
the  national  divinities  as  could  in  any  way  be  associated  with 
farming,  and  then  to  cap  his  climax  with  a  sweetmeat  of  com- 
pliment to  Augustus  as  large  and  as  rich  as  the  imperial 
stomach  could  be  supposed  equal  to  digesting.  Whether  the 
genius  of  the  flatterer  succeeded  in  sating  the  appetite  of 
the  flattered,  our  readers  may  be  left  to  guess  each  one  for 
himself.  Here  are  the  lines : 

What  makes  a  plenteous  harvest,  when  to  turn 
The  fruitful  soil,  and  when  to  sow  the  corn ; 
The  care  of  sheep,  of  oxen,  and  of  kine ; 
And  how  to  raise  on  elms  the  teeming  vine ; 
The  birth  and  genius  of  the  frugal  bee, 
I  sing,  Maecenas,  and  I  sing  to  thee. 

Ye  deities !  who  fields  and  plains  protect, 
Who  rule  the  seasons,  and  the  year  direct, 
Bacchus  and  fostering  Ceres,  powers  divine, 
Who  gave  us  corn  for  mast,  for  water,  wine — 
Ye  Fauns,  propitious  to  the  rural  swains, 
Ye  Nymphs  that  haunt  the  mountains  and  the  plains, 
Join  in  my  work,  and  to  my  numbers  bring 
Your  needful  succor ;  for  your  gifts  I  sing. 
And  thou,  whose  trident  struck  the  teeming  earth, 
And  made  a  passage  for  the  courser's  birth ; 
And  thou,  for  whom  the  Cean  shore  sustains 
The  milky  herds,  that  graze  the  flowery  plains  ; 
And  thou  the  shepherds'  tutelary  god, 
Leave,  for  a  while,  O  Pan,  thy  loved  abode ; 
And,  if  Arcadian  fleeces  be  thy  care, 
From  fields  and  mountains  to  my  song  repair, 
Inventor,  Pallas,  of  the  fattening  oil, 
Thou  founder  of  the  plow  and  plowman's  toil ; 


VIRGIL. 

And  thou,  whose  hands  the  shroud-like  cypress  rear, 

Come,  all  ye  gods  and  goddesses,  that  wear 

The  rural  honors,  and  increase  the  year  ; 

You  who  supply  the  ground  with  seeds  of  grain ; 

And  you,  who  swell  those  seeds  with  kindly  rain ; 

And  chiefly  thou,  whose  undetermined  state 

Is  yet  the  business  of  the  gods'  debate, 

Whether  in  after  times,  to  be  declared, 

The  patron  of  the  world,  and  Rome's  peculiar  guard, 

Or  o'er  the  fruits  and  seasons  to  preside, 

And  the  round  circuit  of  the  year  to  guide — 

Powerful  of  blessings,  which  thou  strew'st  around, 

And  with  thy  goddess  mother's  myrtle  crowned, 

Or,  wilt  thou,  Caesar,  choose  the  watery  reign 

To  smooth  the  surges,  and  correct  the  main  ? 

Then  mariners,  in  storms,  to  thee  shall  pray  ; 

E'en  utmost  Thule  shall  thy  power  obey  ; 

And  Neptune  shall  resign  the  fasces  of  the  sea. 

The  watery  virgins  for  thy  bed  shall  strive, 

And  Tethys  all  her  waves  in  dowry  give. 

Or  wilt  thou  bless  our  summers  with  thy  rays, 

And,  seated  near  the  Balance,  poise  the  days, 

Where  in  the  void  of  heaven  a  space  is  free, 

Betwixt  the  Scorpion  and  the  Maid,  for  thee? 

The  Scorpion,  ready  to  receive  thy  laws, 

Yields  half  his  region,  and  contracts  his  claws. 

Whatever  part  of  heaven  thou  shalt  obtain 

(For  let  not  hell  presume  of  such  a  reign ; 

Nor  let  so  dire  a  thirst  of  empire  move 

Thy  mind,  to  leave  thy  kindred  gods  above  : 

Though  Greece  admires  Elysium's  blest  retreat, 

Though  Proserpine  affects  her  silent  seat, 

And,  importuned  by  Ceres  to  remove, 

Prefers  the  fields  below  to  those  above), 

Be  thou  propitious,  Caesar !  guide  my  course, 

And  to  my  bold  endeavors  add  thy  force ; 

Pity  the  poet's  and  the  plowman's  cares ; 

Interest  thy  greatness  in  our  mean  affairs, 

And  use  thyself  betimes  to  hear  and  grant  our  prayers. 

We  go  on  a  few  verses  : 

While  yet  the  spring  is  young,  while  earth  unbinds 
Her  frozen  bosom  to  the  western  winds ; 
While  mountain  snows  dissolve  against  the  sun, 
And  streams,  yet  new,  from  precipices  run ; 


100  CLASSIC  LATIN  COURSE  IN  ENGLISH. 

E'en  in  this  early  dawning  of  the  year, 
Produce  the  plow,  and  yoke  the  sturdy  steer, 
And  goad  him  till  he  groans  beneath  his  toil, 
Till  the  bright  share  is  buried  in  the  soil. 

We  make  now  a  bold  bound  forward  and  light  upon  the  end 
of  Virgil's  Georgics.  The  last  book,  our  readers  will  re- 
member, is  devoted  to  the  subject  of  bees.  A  climax  is 
sought  and  found  by  the  poet  in  a  queer  bit  of  thaumaturgy. 
He  tells  how  bees,  having  once  been  quite  lost  to  the  world, 
were  renewed  in  their  stock  by  a  process  which  he  describes  at 
great  length  in  one  of  the  most  elaborate  episodes  of  the  poem. 
Proteus  figures  in  the  episode — Proteus,  a  humorous  old  sea- 
god  who  has  it  for  his  specialty  to  be  a  cheat  of  the  first  water. 
He  can  slip  from  form  to  form  in  the  very  hands  of  those  who 
hold  him.  But  bind  him,  caught  asleep,  and  you  have  him  at 
advantage.  Unless  he  manages  still  to  deceive  you  as  to  his 
own  true  identity  and  so  to  make  his  escape  from  your 
hand,  you  can  compel  him  to  tell  you  anything  whatever, 
past,  present,  or  future,  you  may  desire  to  know.  The  upshot 
is  that  the  bee-seeker  is  directed  to  slay  four  fine  bulls  and 
four  fair  heifers  and  have  their  carcasses  exposed.  The  won- 
derful sequel  is  thus  told  by  the  poet  (Professor  Conington's 
prose  translation  once  more) : 

After,  when  the  ninth  morn-goddess  had  ushered  in  the  dawn, 
he  sends  to  Orpheus  a  funeral  sacrifice,  and  visits  the  grove  again. 
And  now  a  portent,  sudden  and  marvelous  to  tell,  meets  their 
view ;  through  the  whole  length  of  the  kine's  dissolving  flesh  bees 
are  seen,  buzzing  in  the  belly  and  boiling  out  through  the  bursten 
ribs,  and  huge  clouds  lengthen  and  sway,  till  at  last  they  pour 
altogether  to  the  tree's  top,  and  let  down  a  cluster  from  the  bend- 
ing boughs. 

The  conclusion  of  the  poem  follows  immediately  : 

Such  was  the  song  I  was  making ;  a  song  of  the  husbandry  of 
fields  and  cattle,  and  of  trees ;  while  Caesar,  the  great,  is  flashing 
war's  thunderbolt  over  the  depths  of  Euphrates,  and  dispensing 
among  willing  nations  a  conqueror's  law,  and  setting  his  foot  on 
the  road  to  the  sky.  In  those  days  I  was  being  nursed  in  Par- 


VIRGIL.  101 

thenope's  delicious  lap,  embowered  in  the  pursuits  of  inglorious 
peace — I,  Virgil,  who  once  dallied  with  the  shepherd's  muse, 
and  with  a  young  man's  boldness,  sang  of  thee,  Tityrus,  under  the 
spreading  beechen  shade. 

The  poetry  of  the  Georgics  is  of  a  texture  more  finished  than 
is  that  of  the  poetry  of  the  ^Eneid.  Thomson's  Seasons  may 
be  read  as  in  some  respects  a  parallel  for  Virgil's  Georgics. 

We  come  to  the  JEneid.  This  great  epic  has  attracted  many 
translators.  We  here  shall  have  no  doubt,  no  hesitation,  in 
choosing  from  among  the  number.  Mr.  Conington,  the  late 
Professor  John  Conington,  of  Oxford,  England,  is  unquestion- 
ably our  man.  Other  translators  than  he  have  their  merits ; 
but  for  exhaustive  learned  preparation,  scholarlike  accuracy, 
divining  insight,  conscientious  fidelity,  sure  good  sense,  re- 
sourceful command  of  language,  unflagging  spirit,  Mr. 
Conington  is  easily  the  best  of  all  Virgil's  English  metrical 
translators. 

A  serious  abatement  has  to  be  made.  Mr.  Conington  has 
chosen  for  his  verse  a  measure,  not  only  such  that  the 
proper  stately  Virgilian  movement  is  lost  in  the  English  form 
which  the  poem  assumes,  but  such  that  this  movement  suffers 
change  to  a  gait  entirely  different,  indeed  violently  con- 
trasted. Virgil's  line  is  like  the  Juno  he  describes  in  one 
of  his  own  memorably  fine,  almost  untranslatable,  ex- 
pressions; it  moves  with  measured  tread  as  queen.  Mr. 
Conington's  translation  gives  us  a  line  that  always  hastens, 
and  that  sometimes  runs  with  breathless  speed.  The  high, 
queenly,  sweeping,  dactylic  gait  that  Virgil  taught  his 
verse  is  transformed  by  Mr.  Conington  into  a  quick,  spring- 
ing, eager,  forward,  iambic  bound.  Perhaps,  too,  in  a  poem  so 
long,  the  versification  is  felt  at  last  to  be  a  little  monotonous. 
Mr.  Conington  adopts  the  octosyllabic  wayward  irregular 
meter,  made  so  popular  in  the  handling  of  Sir  Walter  Scott. 
You  read  the  JEneid  as  if  you  were  reading  another  Lady 


102  CLASSIC  LATIN  COURSE  IN  ENGLISH. 

of  the  Lake.  The  flowing  robes  of  the  dactylic  hexameter  are 
cinctured  and  retrenched  into  the  neat,  trim,  smart  frock  of  a 
Scottish  lassie. 

The  setting  forth  of  the  subject  of  the  poem  is  excellent 
literary  art,  in  Virgil's  text.  Mr.  Conington  translates  as 
follows : 

Arms  and  the  man  I  sing,  who  first, 

By  Fate  of  Ilian  realm  amerced, 

To  fair  Italia  onward  bore, 

And  landed  on  Lavinium's  shore : — 

Long  tossing  earth  and  ocean  o'er, 

By  violence  of  heaven,  to  sate 

Fell  Juno's  unforgetting  hate : 

Much  labored,  too,  in  battle-field, 

Striving  his  city's  walls  to  build, 
And  give  his  gods  a  home : 

Thence  come  the  hardy  Latin  brood, 

The  ancient  sires  of  Alba's  blood, 
And  lofty-rampired  Rome. 

Dryden's  rendering  is  this  : 

Arms,  and  the  man  I  sing,  who,  forced  by  Fate, 
And  haughty  Juno's  unrelenting  hate, 
Expelled  and  exiled,  left  the  Trojan  shore. 
Long  labors,  both  by  sea  and  land,  he  bore, 
And  in  the  doubtful  war,  before  he  won 
The  Latian  realm,  and  built  the  destined  town ; 
His  banished  gods  restored  to  rites  divine, 
And  settled  sure  succession  in  his  line, 
From  whence  the  race  of  Alban  fathers  come 
And  the  long  glories  of  majestic  Rome. 

The  JEneid  is  of  set  deliberate  purpose  a  national  epic  in  the 
strictest  sense.  Such  the  Iliad,  Hellenic  as  that  poem  is 
throughout,  is  not.  The  Iliad  happened,  as  it  were,  to  be 
Greek.  That  is,  it  is  Greek  because  Homer  was  Greek,  not  be- 
cause the  poet  planned  to  produce  a  Greek  poem.  Virgil 
expressly  designed  to  produce  a  poem  that  should  be  Roman 
and  national.  The  JEneid  is  accordingly,  in  its  plan,  a  larger 
poem,  than  the  Iliad.  The  wrath  of  Achilles  suffices  to  Homer 
for  theme.  Virgil's  theme  must  be  nothing  less  than  the 


VIRGIL.  103 

founding  of  Rome.  The  Iliad,  personal  by  intention,  is  only 
by  accident  national.  The  2Eneid,  national  by  intention, 
is  only  by  accident  personal.  Virgil  is  second  and  secondary 
to  Homer.  But  nobody  can  deny  that  the  conception  of 
Virgil's  poem,  as  a  whole,  though  it  may  lack  the  attribute  of 
spontaneity,  may  be  cold-bloodedly  intentional  and  conven- 
tional, is  at  least  nobler  in  breadth  and  magnitude,  perhaps 
also  in  height  and  aspiration,  than  is  the  conception  of  the 
Iliad.  The  Iliad  grew  to  be  what  it  was.  The  uEneid  was 
made  such  as  we  have  it  by  a  first  great  act  of  invention 
on  the  part  of  the  poet.  Virgil's  poem  was,  from  the  first, 
what,  with  few  intervals,  it  has  always  remained,  a  school- 
book.  Its  national  character  eminently  fitted  it  to  be,  as  it 
was,  a  school-book  to  Roman  boys. 

A  short  summary  of  the  action  of  the  jEneid  may  help 
the  reader  follow  intelligently  the  sequence  of  events.  Virgil 
really  does,  what  Homer  is  often  said  to  do,  but  does  not, 
plunge  into  the  midst  of  things  with  his  story. 

In  the  first  book,  JEneas,  the  hero  of  the  poem,  the  seventh 
summer  after  the  fall  of  Troy,  lands  with  his  companions 
on  the  Carthaginian  coast.  Here,  Ulysses-like,  he  relates 
to  Carthaginian  Queen  Dido  the  story  of  his  previous  ad- 
ventures and  wanderings.  This  narration  occupies  two  more 
books  of  the  poem.  The  fourth  book  contains  the  episode 
of  the  mutual  passion  between  Dido  and  ./Eneas,  ending 
tragically  for  Dido  in  his  faithless  desertion  of  her  and  in  her 
death  by  cruel  suicide.  The  fifth  book  describes  the  games 
celebrated  by  the  Trojans  on  the  hospitable  shores  of  Sicily  in 
honor  of  JEneas's  dead  father,  Anchises  (An-ki'ses).  In  the 
sixth  book,  .(Eneas,  arrived  in  Italy,  makes  his  descent  into 
the  lower  world.  The  rest  of  the  poem  relates  the  fortunes  of 
^Eneas  in  obtaining  a  settlement  for  the  Trojans  in  Italy. 
There  is  war.  Against  the  invaders,  a  great  Italian  champion 
appears,  who  serves  the  same  purpose  of  foil  to  JEneas  as  long 


104  CLASSIC  LATIN  COURSE  IN  ENGLISH. 

before  did  Hector  to  Achilles.  The  end,  of  course,  is  victory 
for  JEneas. 

We  now  return  to  let  Virgil  himself,  speaking  by  the  voice 
of  English  interpreter  Conington,  take  us  forward  the  first 
stage  of  his  poem.  There  is,  in  the  whole  JEneid,  no  more 
finished  versification,  no  more  skillful  narrative,  no  greater 
wealth  of  quotable  and  quoted  phrases,  than  are  found  in 
the  first  book  of  the  poem.  We  begin  with  a  citation  long 
enough  to  include  a  fine  example  of  Virgil's  sublimity,  appear- 
ing in  the  description  of  a  storm  and  shipwreck,  .Eneas, 
with  his  companions,  refugees  from  ruined  Troy,  is  escaping 
by  sea  when  this  tempest  arises. 

We  need  not  tell  our  readers  that  the  machinery  with  which 
the  raising  and  calming  of  the  tempest  are  brought  about,  was 
already  in  Virgil's  time  nearly  as  much  an  exploded  super- 
stition at  Rome  as  is  the  case  in  our  own  day.  There  is  in  the 
introduction,  on  Virgil's  part,  of  this  absurd  supernaturalism  a 
certain  lack  of  genuineness  apparent,  which  in  Homer  we 
nowhere  discover.  The  tempest-raising  part  of  -Solus  in  this 
action  is  a  transfer  from  Homer.  JEolus  has  just  responded 
favorably  to  an  appeal  from  Juno  for  his  intervention  against 
the  hated  Trojans.  His  intervention  is  prompt.  It  was, 
literally,  a  word  and  a  blow ; 

He  said,  and  with  his  spear  struck  wide 
The  portals  in  the  mountain  side : 
At  once,  like  soldiers  in  a  band, 
Forth  rush  the  winds,  and  scour  the  land : 
Then  lighting  heavily  on  the  main, 
East,  South,  and  West  with  storms  in  train, 
Heave  from  its  depth  the  watery  floor, 
And  roll  great  billows  to  the  shore. 
Then  come  the  clamor  and  the  shriek, 
The  sailors  shout,  the  main-ropes  creak : 
All  in  a  moment  sun  and  skies 
Are  blotted  from  the  Trojan's  eyes : 
Black  night  is  brooding  o'er  the  deep, 
Sharp  thunder  peals,  live  lightnings  leap : 


VIRGLL.  106 

The  stoutest  warrior  holds  his  breath, 
And  looks  as  on  the  face  of  death. 
At  once  ^Eneas  thrilled  with  dread ; 
Forth  from  his  breast,  with  hands  outspread, 

These  groaning  words  he  drew : 
"  O  happy,  thrice  and  yet  again, 
Who  died  at  Troy  like  valiant  men, 

E'en  in  their  parents'  view ! 
O  Diomed,  first  of  Greeks  in  fray, 
Why  pressed  I  not  the  plain  that  day. 

Yielding  my  life  to  you, 
Where  stretched  beneath  a  Phrygian  sky 
Fierce  Hector,  tall  Sarpedon  lie : 
Where  Simois  tumbles  'neath  his  wave 
Shields,  helms,  and  bodies  of  the  brave  ? '" 

Now,  howling  from  the  north,  the  gale, 

While  thus  he  moans  him,  strikes  his  sail : 

The  swelling  surges  climb  the  sky ; 

The  shattered  oars  in  splinters  fly  ; 

The  prow  turns  round,  and  to  the  tide 

Lays  broad  and  bare  the  vessel's  side ; 

On  comes  a  billow  mountain-steep, 

Bears  down,  and  tumbles  in  a  heap. 

These  stagger  on  the  billow's  crest, 

Those  to  the  yawning  depth  deprest 

See  land  appearing  'mid  the  waves, 

While  surf  with  sand  in  turmoil  raves. 

Three  ships  the  South  has  caught  and  thrown 

On  scarce  hid  rocks,  as  altars  known, 

Ridging  the  main,  a  reef  of  stone. 

Three  more  fierce  Eurus  from  the  deep, 

A  sight  to  make  the  gazer  weep, 

Drives  on  the  shoals,  and  banks  them  round 

With  sand,  as  with  a  rampire-mound. 

One,  which  erewhile  from  Lycia's  shore 

Orontes  and  his  people  bore, 

E'en  in  ^Eneas' s  anguished  sight 

A  sea  down  crashing  from  the  height 

Strikes  full  astern :  the  pilot,  torn 

From  off  the  helm,  is  headlong  borne : 

Three  turns  the  foundered  vessel  gave, 

Then  sank  beneath  the  engulfing  wave. 

There  in  the  vast  abyss  are  seen 

The  swimmers,  few  and  far  between, 


106  CLASSIC  LATIN  COURSE  IN  ENGLISH. 

And  warrior's  arms  and  shattered  wood, 
And  Trojan  treasures  strew  the  flood. 
And  now  Ilioneus,  and  now 

Aletes  old  and  gray, 
Abas  and  brave  Achates  bow, 

Beneath  the  tempest's  sway ; 
Fast  drinking  in  through  timbers  loose 
At  every  pore  the  fatal  ooze, 

Their  sturdy  barks  give  way. 

Neptune  at  this  point 

His  calm  broad  brow  o'er  ocean  rears. 
He  speaks  with  highly  pacific  effect  thus  described  : 

As  when  sedition  oft  has  stirred 
In  some  great  town  the  vulgar  herd, 
And  brands  and  stones  already  fly — 
For  Rage  has  weapons  always  nigh — 
Then  should  some  man  of  worth  appear 
Whose  stainless  virtue  all  revere, 
They  hush,  they  list :  his  clear  voice  rules 
Their  rebel  wills,  their  anger  cools : 
So  ocean  ceased  at  once  to  rave, 
When,  calmly  looking  o'er  the  wave, 
Girt  with  a  range  of  azure  sky, 
The  father  bids  his  chariot  fly. 

The  foregoing  simile  is  a  celebrated  one.  The  allusion  in 
it  is,  with  great  probability,  held  to  be  to  an  incident  in 
Cicero's  oratorical  career.  Roscius  Otho  had  been  greeted 
in  a  theater  with  a  tumultuary  storm  of  hisses.  The  disturb- 
ance grew  to  a  riot.  Cicero  was  summoned.  He  got  the 
people  into  a  temple  near  by,  and  there,  with  infinite  skill, 
rebuked  and  rallied  them  out  of  their  ill-temper.  It  was  a 
striking  triumph  of  oratory  seconded  by  character. 

The  "tempest-tossed  ^Eneadse"  (Trojans)  struggle  ashore, 
and  there  make  themselves  as  comfortable  as  they  can. 
JEneas  gets  a  shot  (with  bow  and  arrow)  at  some  deer  that 
come  within  sight  and  range.  He  kills  just  a  deer  apiece 
for  his  seven  ships,  and,  with  this  good  fortune  to  support 
him,  he  harangues  his  comrades : 


VIRGIL.  107 

Comrades  and  friends !  for  ours  is  strength 

Has  brooked  the  test  of  woes ; 
O  worse-scarred  hearts !  these  wounds  at  length 

The  gods  will  heal,  like  those. 
You  that  have  seen  grim  Scylla  rave, 

And  heard  her  monsters  yell, 
You  that  have  looked  upon  the  cave 

Where  savage  Cyclops  dwell, 
Come,  cheer  your  souls,  your  fears  forget ; 
This  suffering  will  yield  us  yet 

A  pleasant  tale  to  tell. 

Through  chance,  through  peril  lies  our  way 
To  Latium,  where  the  fates  display 
A  mansion  of  abiding  stay : 
There  Troy  her  fallen  realm  shall  raise : 
Bear  up,  and  live  for  happier  days. 

The  couplet  italicized  translates 

Et  haec  olim  meminisse  juvabit 

(literally  :  Even  these  things  hereafter  to  remember  will 
afford  delight),  a  sentiment  often  quoted  by  modern  authors 
in  Virgil's  own  happy  expression. 

The  next  day  JEneas  had  an  adventure  that  was  worth 
while.  He  met  his  goddess-mother,  Venus,  not  confessed  in 
her  true  divine  identity,  but  wearing  a  disguise  of  virgin 
loveliness,  which  Virgil  beautifully  describes  as  follows : 

In  mien  and  gear  a  Spartan  maid, 
Or  like  Harpalyce  arrayed, 
Who  tires  fleet  coursers  in  the  chase, 
And  heads  the  swiftest  streams  of  Thrace. 
Slung  from  her  shoulders  hangs  a  bow  ; 
Loose  to  the  wind  her  tresses  flow ; 
Bare  was  her  knee ;  her  mantle's  fold 
The  gathering  of  a  knot  controlled. 

The  colloquy  which  ensued  we  have  no  room  to  give  at 
large.  The  goddess  informs  jEneas  where  he  is,  and  how, 
under  present  circumstances,  he  ought  to  manage  matters. 
The  bewitching  creature  uses  one  simile,  to  convey  her  en- 
couragement to  her  son,  that  is  divine  enough  to  be  reported 
to  our  readers : 


108  CLASSIC  LATIN  COURSE  IN  ENGLISH. 

Mark  those  twelve  swans,  that  hold  their  way 

In  seemly  jubilant  array, 

Whom  late,  down  swooping  from  on  high, 

Jove's  eagle  scattered  through  the  sky ; 

Now  see  them  o'er  the  land  extend 

Or  hover,  ready  to  descend : 

They,  rallying,  sport  on  noisy  wing, 

And  circle  round  the  heaven,  and  sing : 

E'en  so  your  ships,  your  martial  train, 

Have  gained  the  port,  or  stand  to  gain. 

Then  pause  not  further,  but  proceed 

Still  following  where  the  road  shall  lead. 

The  immediate  sequel  was  tantalizing  in  the  extreme. 
Venus  revealed  herself  as  Venus  and — instantly  vanished  : 

She  turned,  and  flashed  upon  their  view 
Her  stately  neck's  purpureal  hue ; 
Ambrosial  tresses  round  her  head 
A  more  than  earthly  fragrance  shed : 
Her  falling  robe  her  footprints  swept, 
And  showed  the  goddess  as  she  stept. 

She  through  the  sky  to  Paphos  moves, 
And  seeks  the  temple  of  her  loves. 

The  two  Trojans,  JEneas  and  his  faithful  companion,  Acha- 
tes, shrouded  by  Venus  in  a  cloud,  invisibly  visit  the  scene 
of  the  labors  in  progress  for  the  founding  of  Carthage.  The 
description  is  very  fine  in  Virgil,  and  it  loses  nothing  of  spirit 
in  the  finished  version  of  Mr.  Conington.  A  simile  occurs 
in  it,  one  of  Virgil's  best,  which  our  readers  must  not  lose. 
The  various  busy  labor  of  the  Carthaginian  builders  is  the 
subject: 

So  bees,  when  springtime  is  begun 

Ply  their  warm  labor  in  the  sun, 

What  time  along  the  flowery  mead 

Their  nation's  infant  hope  they  lead ; 

Or  with  clear  honey  charge  each  cell, 

And  make  the  hive  with  sweetness  swell, 

The  workers  of  their  loads  relieve, 

Or  chase  the  drones,  that  gorge  and  thieve  : 

With  toil  the  busy  scene  ferments, 

And  fragrance  breathes  from  thymy  scents. 


VIRGIL.  109 

JEneas — Achates  is  now  neglected  by  the  poet — looks  about 
him  at  his  leisure.  At  length  he  was  interrupted  by  the 
approach  of  Queen  Dido,  whom  the  poet  ushers  in  to  us 
with  a  stately  simile. 

Dido  seats  herself  and  gives  out  laws — when,  behold,  some 
of  those  Trojans  who  were  shipwrecked  make  their  appear- 
ance. Invisible  JEneas  and  Achates  are  overjoyed,  but  they 
wait  and  listen  while  one  of  their  Trojan  friends  delivers  him- 
self of  an  extremely  well-conceived  appeal,  for  favorable  con- 
sideration, to  the  queen  and  her  subjects.  The  speaker  makes 
flowing  promises  of  the  most  honorable  conduct  on  the  part  of 
his  companions,  and  on  that  of  the  Trojans  in  general,  by  way 
of  return  for  the  hospitality  they  crave. 

The  Carthaginian  queen  responds  with  the  utmost  grace 
of  majesty.  She  says  she  will  send  to  seek  their  great  ^Eneas. 
.ffineas  himself,  with  his  friend  Achates,  amid  the  clouds 
can  scarcely  keep  from  crying  out.  The  cloud  seems  to  feel  by 
sympathy  the  effects  of  his  impulse  to  speak.  It  parts 
And  purges  brightening  into  day. 

And  now  an  Homeric  miracle.  The  goddess-mother  of 
^Eneas  does  for  her  son  what  readers  of  the  Odyssey  will 
remember  Pallas  Athene  more  than  once  did  for  her  favorite 
warrior  and  sage,  Ulysses — she  glorifies  JEneas  into  godlike 
grace  and  beauty.  The  transfiguration  is  beautifully  por- 
trayed by  Virgil,  and  Mr.  Conington  as  translator  is  not 
wanting  to  the  occasion  : 

^Eneas  stood,  to  sight  confest, 

A  very  god  in  face  and  chest : 

For  Venus  round  her  darling's  head 

A  length  of  clustering  locks  had  spread, 

Crowned  him  with  youth's  purpureal  light, 

And  made  his  eyes  gleam  glad  and  bright : 

Such  loveliness  the  hands  of  art 

To  ivory's  native  hues  impart : 

So  'mid  the  gold  around  it  placed 

Shines  silver  pale  or  marble  chaste. 


110  CLASSIC  LATIN  COURSE  IN   ENGLISH. 

Radiant  JEneas  makes  to  Dido  a  very  gallant  speech,  full 
of  chivalrous  engagement.  You  would  have  taken  him  for 
the  soul  of  honor.  But  honor,  as  we  Christians  understand 
the  idea,  was  by  no  means  JEneas's  forte,  ^neas's  specialty 
was  "  piety  " — piety  in  the  sense  of  reverence  for  the  gods  and 
for  parents,  and  of  regard  for  duties  owed  to  country.  Virgil's 
attribution  of  piety  to  .^Eneas  did  not  in  the  least  imply  that 
he,  pious  soul,  might  not  all  the  same  be  a  very  poor  reliance 
in  relations  other  than  the  ones  above  specified.  This,  Dido, 
to  her  undoing,  was  presently  to  learn.  Unconsciously,  or  in- 
deed perhaps  consciously,  Virgil  incorporated  the  very  spirit 
of  the  ideal  Roman  character  in  his  hero  ^neas.  To  this 
"pious"  man  nothing  could  be  wrong  that  would  tend  to 
further  his  fortunes.  But  we  anticipate. 

Dido  lavishes  refreshment  on  the  Trojan  crews,  and  sets  her 
palace  in  order  for  the  entertainment  of  their  goddess-born 
and  godlike  leader,  JEneas.  He  meantime,  "  loth  to  lose 
the  father  in  the  king,"  sends  to  have  brought  to  him  his  son, 
the  lovely  lad  variously  named  I-u'lus,  I-lus,  As-ca'ni-us. 

This  quest  of  the  father's  gives  Venus  a  chance,  not  to  be 
lost.  She  plans  a  deceit.  Her  boy  Cupid  shall  go  personate 
Ascanius  and,  nestling,  at  the  feast  to  be,  in  the  bosom  of 
Dido,  shall  infix  ineradicably  there  a  sweet  sting  of  love  for 
^Eneas.  The  true  Ascanius,  her  grandson,  the  goddess  trans- 
ports elsewhere  and 

soft  amaracus  receives 
And  gently  curtains  him  with  leaves. 

The  plot  prospers.  Cupid  enters  sympathetically  into  the 
humor  of  his  part.  As  Mr.  Conington  featly  and  daintily 
translates, 

Young  Love  obeyed,  his  plumage  stripped, 

And,  laughing,  like  lulus  tripped. 

Unconscious  Dido  at  the  feast  caresses  her  doom.  The 
roguish  Cupid  having  first 


VIRGIL.  Ill 

satisfied  the  fond  desire 
Of  that  his  counterfeited  sire, 
Turns  him  to  Dido.    Heart  and  eye 
She  clings,  she  cleaves,  she  makes  him  lie 
Lapped  in  her  breast,  nor  knows,  lost  fair, 
How  dire  a  god  sits  heavy  there. 
But  he,  too  studious  to  fulfill 
His  Acidalian  mother's  will, 
Begins  to  cancel  trace  by  trace 
The  imprint  of  Sychseus'  face, 
And  bids  a  living  passion  steal 
On  senses  long  unused  to  feel. 

Dido  is  lost.  She  commits  herself  in  boundless  pledge  to  the 
Trojans.  In  a  pause  made,  she  solemnly  appeals  to  Olympus. 
With  her  invocation  of  the  Olympians,  a  full  pledge  in  golden 
wine  was  poured  out.  Then  the  part  performed  by  Demodo- 
cus  at  Homer's  Phseacian  banquet  to  Ulysses  is  repeated  at  this 
Didonian  feast  given  in  honor  of  ^Eneas.  I-o/pas  is  the  name 
of  Virgil's  bard.  This  name  has  never  become  so  famous  in 
subsequent  song  and  story  as  has  the  name  Demodocus. 
Nevertheless,  the  performance  did  not  lack  matter,  as  will 
show  the  following  brilliant  programme,  itself  poetry  and 
song  of  potent  spell  to  the  imagination.  How  charmingly 
Mr.  Conington  has  rendered  it !  Virgil  had  a  ,marked  tend- 
ency toward  philosophical  poetry.  Lucretius  drew  him 
strongly.  Observe  how  he  here  makes  lopas  go,  as  it  were  phil- 
osophically, not  less  than  poetically,  into  the  secret  of  things : 

He  sings  the  wanderings  of  the  moon, 
The  sun  eclipsed  in  deadly  swoon, 
Whence  human  kind  and  cattle  came, 
And  whence  the  rain-spout  and  the  flame, 
Arcturus  and  the  two  bright  Bears, 
And  Hyads  weeping  showery  tears, 
Why  winter  suns  so  swiftly  go, 
And  why  the  weary  nights  move  slow. 

Discourse  succeeds  to  feast  and  song.  Dido  asks  Mneas  to 
tell  the  company  all  about  his  own  various  fortune — with 
which  request  ends  book  first  of  the  JSneid. 


112  CLASSIC  LATIN  COURSE  IN  ENGLISH. 

The  second  book,  with  the  third,  is  made  up  of  vEneas's 
autobiographical  story. 

He  sets  out  with  the  incident  of  the  celebrated  Wooden 
Horse.  Of  this  incident,  only  alluded  to  in  our  treatment 
of  Homer,  we  proceed  to  give  Virgil's  account  in  full,  or 
nearly  enough  in  full  for  the  full  satisfaction  of  our  readers : 

The  Danaan  chiefs,  with  cunning  given 
By  Pallas,  mountain-high  to  heaven 

A  giant  horse  uprear, 
And  with  compacted  beams  of  pine 
The  texture  of  its  ribs  entwine : 
A  vow  for  their  return  they  feign, 
So  runs  the  tale,  and  spreads  amain. 
There  in  the  monster's  cavernous  side 
Huge  frames  of  chosen  chiefs  they  hide, 
And  steel-clad  soldiery  finds  room 
Within  that  death-producing  womb. 

This  huge  image  of  a  horse  the  Greeks  leave  on  shore, 
and  withdraw  in  their  ships  from  the  Trojans'  sight.  The  de- 
lighted Trojans  swarm  out  of  the  gates  to  survey  the  deserted 
camp  of  the  Greeks.  One  of  them  proposes  that  they  draw 
the  colossal  horse  within  the  walls  of  the  city.  As  to  the  ex- 
pediency of  this  there  are  conflicting  views,  and  La-oc/o-on — 
note  the  name,  there  is  a  sequel  awaiting  associated  with 
this  priest  of  Neptune — runs  down  to  discountenance  the  proj- 
ect. His  speech  is  full  of  prophet's  wisdom  and  fire. 

The  disposition  to  be  made  of  the  horse  hangs  in  doubt, 
When  a  Greek  captive  is  brought  in  who  plays  a  very  deep 
part.  Si'non  is  the  man's  name.  On  the  desperate  chance  of 
getting  himself  believed  in  a  most  improbable  tale,  this  man 
has  risked  his  life  by  thus  throwing  himself  into  the  power  of 
the  Trojans.  He  pretends  to  have  escaped  from  dreadful 
death  at  the  hands  of  his  own  countrymen,  having  been,  as  he 
says,  destined  by  them  to  perish,  a  human  sacrifice,  for  their 
safe  return  from  Troy.  The  upshot  is  that  Sinon  gets  himself 
believed.  His  fetters  are  stricken  off  and,  at  Priam's  kindly 


VIRGIL.  113 

challenge,  he  has  his  desired  chance  to  cheat  the  Trojans 
to  the  full,  under  sanction  of  protestations  volunteered  by  him 
with  gratuitous  eloquence  of  perjury.  Tell  us  honestly,  Sinon, 
Priam  says,  what  does  the  horse  mean  ? 

Sinon's  satisfaction  to  the  old  king's  curiosity  is  ingeniously 
fabricated.  He  says  that  Pallas  turned  against  the  Greeks, 
aggrieved  by  profanation  done  to  her  image  at  the  hands  of 
ruthless  Ulysses  and  Ty-di'des.  These  chieftains  had  plucked 
the  sacred  statue — Palladium,  it  was  called — from  its  seat  in 
the  temple  in  Troy,  and  stained  it  with  blood.  The  Greek 
prophet  Calchas  [Kal'kas],  so  Sinon  glibly  relates,  assures  his 
countrymen  that  they  must  return  home  and  there  renew  the 
omens,  or  they  will  never  take  Troy.  Meantime  they  fashion 
the  colossal  horse  in  Pallas's  honor, 

An  image  for  an  image  given 
To  pacify  offended  Heaven. 

Calchas,  Sinon  with  skillful  surplusage  of  lying,  says,  bade  the 
Greeks  rear  the  horse  so  high  that  the  Trojans  could  not  get  it 
through  their  city  gates,  lest,  taken  within,  it  should  make 
Troy  impregnable,  and  endanger  Greece. 

To  second  and  support  the  lithe  lying  of  Sinon,  a  ghastly 
omen  fell.  Now  comes  in  the  story  of  Laocoon,  which  is  too 
famous  and  too  characteristic  of  Virgil  not  to  be  given  to 
our  readers  without  retrenchment,  as  Virgil  tells  it : 

Laocoon,  named  as  Neptune's  priest, 
Was  offering  up  the  victim  beast, 
When  lo !  from  Tenedos — I  quail, 
E'en  now,  at  telling  of  the  tale — 
Two  monstrous  serpents  stem  the  tide, 
And  shoreward  through  the  stillness  glide. 
Amid  the  waves  they  rear  their  breasts, 
And  toss  on  high  their  sanguine  crests ; 
The  hind  part  coils  along  the  deep, 
And  undulates  with,  sinuous  sweep. 
The  lashed  spray  echoes :  now  they  reach 
The  inland  belted  by  the  beach, 


114  CLASSIC  LATIN  COUKSE  IN  ENGLISH. 

And  rolling  bloodshot  eyes  of  fire, 

Dart  their  forked  tongue  and  hiss  for  ire. 

We  fly  distraught ;  unswerving  they 

Toward  Laocoon  hold  their  way ; 

First  round  his  two  young  sons  they  wreathe. 

And  grind  their  limbs  with  savage  teeth : 

Then,  as  with  arms  he  comes  to  aid, 

The  wretched  father  they  invade 

And  twine  in  giant  folds ;  twice  round 

His  stalwart  waist  their  spires  are  wound, 

Twice  round  his  neck,  while  over  all 

Their  heads  and  crests  tower  high  and  tall. 

He  strains  his  strength  their  knots  to  tear, 

While  gore  and  slime  his  fillets  smear, 

And  to  the  unregardful  skies 

Sends  up  his  agonizing  cries : 

A  wounded  bull  such  moaning  makes, 

When  from  his  neck  the  axe  he  shakes, 

Ill-aimed,  and  from  the  altar  breaks. 

The  twin  destroyers  take  their  flight 

To  Pallas'  temple  on  the  height ; 

There  by  the  goddess'  feet  concealed 

They  lie  and  nestle  'neath  her  shield. 

No  wonder  that  the  Trojans  now,  seeing  an  apparent  pun- 
ishment so  dire  befall  Laocoon,  are  shocked  into  unqualified 
credit  of  Sinon's  tale.  With  resistless  enthusiasm,  they  rush 
to  drag  the  fateful  horse  within  the  walls.  Virgil's  description 
of  this  madness  and  this  action  is  instinct  with  fire. 

The  sequel  of  the  contrivance  of  the  Wooden  Horse  is 
thus  told : 

And  now  from  Tenedos  set  free 
The  Greeks  are  sailing  on  the  sea, 
Bound  for  the  shore  where  erst  they  lay, 
Beneath  the  still  moon's  friendly  ray : 
When  in  a  moment  leaps  to  sight 
On  the  king's  ship  the  signal  light, 
And  Sinon,  screened  by  partial  fate, 
Unlocks  the  pine -wood  prison's  gate. 
The  horse  its  charge  to  aid  restores 
And  forth  the  armed  invasion  pours. 
Thessander,  Sthenelus,  the  first, 
Slide  down  the  rope ;  Ulysses  curst, 


VIBQIL.  115 

Thoas  and  Acamas  are  there, 

And  great  Pelides'  youthful  heir, 

Machaon,  Menelaus,  last 

Epeus,  who  the  plot  forecast. 

They  seize  the  city,  buried  deep 

In  floods  of  revelry  and  sleep,  \ 

Cut  down  the  warders  of  the  gates, 

And  introduce  their  conscious  mates. 

Among  the  touching  incidents  of  the  last  night  of  Troy 
with  which  the  teeming  invention  of  Virgil  crowds  his  swift- 
revolving  kaleidoscopic  narrative,  there  is,  perhaps,  no  other  so 
pathetic  as  that  of  aged  Priam's  girding  on  the  armor  of 
his  youth,  to  sally  out  and  do  battle  with  the  foe.  Hecuba, 
his  wife,  espies  him  in  his  panoply,  and  exclaims  with  vain 
deprecation  at  the  noble  madness  of  the  old  man. 

The  end  of  Priam  comes  by  the  hand  of  Pyrrhus,  son  of 
Achilles.  Priam  had  just  seen  his  own  son  Po-li'tes  slain 
at  his  very  feet  by  Pyrrhus,  and  with  aged  ire  had  upbraided 
the  slayer  as  degenerate  offspring  of  an  illustrious  sire.  He 
had  even  hurled  against  Pyrrhus  an  impotent  weapon.  Now 
a  few  lines  of  Virgil  according  to  Conington : 

Then  Pyrrhus:    "  Take  the  news  below, 
And  to  my  sire  Achilles  go : 
Tell  him  of  his  degenerate  seed, 
And  that  and  this  my  bloody  deed. 
Now  die  "  :  and  to  the  altar  stone 

Along  the  marble  floor 
He  dragged  the  father  sliddering  on 

E'en  in  his  child's  own  gore ; 
His  left  hand  in  his  hair  he  wreathed, 

While  with  the  right  he  plied 
His  flashing  sword,  and  hilt-deep  sheathed 

Within  the  old  man's  side. 
So  Priam's  fortunes  closed  at  last : 
So  passed  he,  seeing  as  he  passed 
His  Troy  in  flames,  his  royal  tower 
Laid  low  in  dust  by  hostile  power. 
Who  once  o'er  land  and  peoples  proud 
Sat,  while  before  him  Asia  bowed : 


116  CLASSIC  LATIN   COURSE  IN  ENGLISH. 

Now  on  the  shore  behold  him  dead, 
A  nameless  trunk,  a  trunkless  head. 

The  last  line  of  Conington  affords  an  admirable  instance  of 
this  accomplished  translator's  quality  as  rhetorician  rather 
than  poet.  What  consummate  rhetoric  is 

A  nameless  trunk,  a  trunkless  head ! 

The  sense  is  exactly  Virgil's,  the  rhetoric  exactly  Conington's. 
That  repetition,  in  transposed  order,  of  the  word  trunk — it  is 
brilliant,  but  it  is  rhetoric  rather  than  poetry. 

JEneas,  trying  to  save  his  father,  has  trouble  with  the 
spirited  old  man,  who  refuses  to  be  saved.  Whereupon 
.(Eneas  is  as  spirited  as  he,  and,  unrestrained  by  his  wife 
Cre-u'sa's  entreaty,  is  on  the  point  of  rushing  forth  again  into 
the  street  brim  with  its  battle  and  flame,  when,  behold  a 
prodigy  !  A  lovely  lambent  flame  lights  on  the  head  of  little 
lulus,  as  his  mother  is  eloquently  presenting  him  in  argument 
to  his  father.  The  parents  try  to  quench  it,  but  prophetic 
grandfather  Anchises  is  enraptured  at  the  sight.  He  prays  for 
confirmation  of  the  omen.  A  clap  of  thunder  on  the  left,  and 
a  sliding  meteor  above  the  palace  roof !  Anchises  chants — but 
we  should  profane  a  holy  phrase  with  such  an  application — we 
were  about  to  say  his  "Nunc  dimittis" — Anchises,  in  short, 
now  consents  to  flee  with  ^neas.  The  pious  son  arranges 
a  place  of  meeting  for  Creusa,  outside  the  city,  and  starts, 
bearing  his  father  on  his  shoulders  and  leading  his  boy  by 
the  hand — an  immortal  picture  of  filial  fidelity. 

Creusa  got  parted  from  her  company  and  met  a  fate  un- 
known. JEneas  did  what  a  faithful  husband  was  bound  to 
do  ;  he  returned  to  the  city  in  search  of  his  wife.  Her  specter 
met  him  and  bade  him  farewell.  She  was  not  to  be  his 
companion.  He  tried  to  embrace  her,  but  he  embraced  empti- 
ness. jEneas  was  wifeless. 

The  second  book  ends  with  ^Eneas's  return  to  his  father  and 


VIRGIL.  117 

son,  where  he  had  left  them  in  order  to  seek  his  wife.  He  there 
found  a  number  of  Trojans  ready  to  join  their  fate  with  his. 

The  third  book  is  crowded  with  matter ;  but  we  must  pass  it 
altogether. 

The  fourth  book  is  devoted  to  the  sad  tale  of  Dido  and 
her  fatal  passion  for  her  guest.  The  episode  is  interesting,  but 
it  has  not  the  interest  of  a  story  of  love,  such  as  Christianity, 
with  its  gospel  of  woman's  equality  with  man,  has  taught 
us  moderns  to  understand  love  between  the  sexes.  Of  that 
love,  pagan  antiquity  knew  nothing.  The  relation  between 
Dido  and  ./Eneas  was  not  one  of  true  love,  but  one  of  passion, 
in  which  the  passion  was  chiefly  on  the  hapless  woman's  side. 
We  moderns  cannot  enter  into  the  sympathy  of  it.  IMdo  you 
pity  indeed,  but  hardly  respect.  You  feel  more  satisfaction  in 
heartily  execrating  .(Eneas  with  his  everlastingly  applauded 
piety.  You  wish  he  were  a  little  less  pious  and  a  little  more 
honorable. 

There  are  celebrated  passages  of  fine  poetry  in  this  book 
which  we  must  lay  before  our  readers ;  but  poor  Dido's  moon- 
struck maunderings  to  her  confidant  sister  Anna,  together 
with  her  love-sick  wheedling  of  ^Eneas  kind,  and  her  crazy 
objurgation  of  JEneas  treacherous — this  detail  may  well  be 
spared.  Virgil  does  it  all  with  great  skill,  displaying  in  it 
great  knowledge  of  the  human  heart.  But  the  story  rather 
revolts  the  modern  taste.  Let  us  pass  it.  The  sum  of  it  is 
that  Dido  is  helplessly  enamored  of  jEneas,  that  ^Eneas  be- 
trays and  deserts  her,  and  that  then  Dido  takes  refuge  in 
suicide,  having  first  provided  to  perish  in  a  funeral  pyre 
that  shall  flame  high  enough  to  be  a  baleful  sign  to  JEneas  off 
at  sea.  Thus  is  a  quasi-historic  reason  found  or  feigned  by 
Virgil  for  the  immortal  enmity  that  subsisted  between  Cartha- 
ginian and  Roman  blood.  It  should  be  said  that  the  rascal 
Olympian  divinities  come  in  to  be,  as  usual,  mutually  an- 
tagonist artificers  of  fraud. 


118  CLASSIC  LATIN  COURSE  IN  ENGLISH. 

After  Dido's  fall,  she  seeks  at  once  to  cover  her  disgrace  : 

She  calls  it  marriage  now ;  such  name 
She  chooses  to  conceal  her  shame. 

What  follows  is  perhaps  as  famous  a  passage  as  any  in 
ancient  poetry.  It  is  a  magnificent  description  of  fame, 
report,  or  rumor  personified — gossip,  we  might  familiarly 
call  the  creature : 

Now  through  the  towns  of  Libya's  sons 

Her  progress  Fame  begins, 
Fame  than  whom  never  plague  that  runs 

Its  way  more  swiftly  wins ; 
Her  very  motion  lends  her  power ; 
She  flies  and  waxes  every  hour. 
At  first  she  shrinks,  and  cowers  for  dread : 

Ere  long  she  soars  on  high : 
Upon  the  ground  she  plants  her  tread, 

Her  forehead  in  the  sky. 
Wroth  with  Olympus,  parent  Earth 

Brought  forth  the  monster  to  the  light, 
Last  daughter  of  the  giant  birth, 

With  feet  and  rapid  wings  for  flight. 
Huge,  terrible,  gigantic  Fame ! 
For  every  plume  that  clothes  her  frame 
An  eye  beneath  the  feather  peeps, 
A  tongue  rings  loud,  an  ear  upleaps. 
Hurtling  'twixt  earth  and  heaven  she  flies 
By  night,  nor  bows  to  sleep  her  eyes ; 
Perched  on  a  roof  or  tower  by  day 
She  fills  great  cities  with  dismay ; 
How  oft  soe'er  the  truth  she  tell, 
She  loves  a  falsehood  all  too  well. 

Here  is  another  fine  passage.  It  is  descriptive  of  night — the 
culm  night  on  which,  while  wakeful  Dido  communed  with 
herself  about  ways  of  yet  regaining  her  lover,  that  lover,  him- 
self first  roused  by  Mercury,  messenger  of  Jove,  roused  in 
turn  his  men,  and  faithlessly,  though  piously,  set  sail  for 
Italy.  The  contrast  of  the  universal  quiet,  in  a  few  strokes  so 
strongly  depicted,  with  Dido's  unrest,  is  very  effective  : 


VIRGIL.  119 

'Tis  night :  earth's  tired  ones  taste  the  balm, 
The  precious  balm  of  sleep, 
And  in  the  forest  there  is  calm, 

And  on  the  savage  deep : 
The  stars  are  in  their  middle  flight : 

The  fields  are  hushed :  each  bird  or  beast 
That  dwells  beside  the  silver  lake 
Or  haunts  the  tangles  of  the  brake 

In  placid  slumber  lies,  released 
From  trouble  by  the  touch  of  night ; 
All  but  the  hapless  queen. 

The  fifth  book  is  largely  occupied  with  an.  elaborate  account 
of  games  celebrated  on  a  friendly  shore  by  the  Trojans  under 
the  imperio-paternal  eye  of  2Eneas,  in  honor  of  the  anniversary 
of  his  father  Anchises's  death.  They  have  a  galley  race,  a  foot 
race,  a  boxing  match,  a  trial  of  archery,  and,  to  crown  all, 
a  gallant  competition  of  horsemanship  in  mimic  tournament, 
on  the  part  of  the  boys. 

The  sixth  book  is  a  long  and  splendid  tract  of  poetry.  The 
matter  of  it  is  ^Eneas' s  descent  into  Hades.  This  descent  is 
accomplished  with  much  antecedent  as  well  as  accompanying 
circumstance  and  ceremony.  Resort  is  had  to  the  residence 
of  the  Sibyl  at  Cumse  (Cuma).  This  famous  mythical  person- 
age is  a  well-known  subject  in  the  modern  painter's  art.  She 
is  thus  introduced  by  Virgil : 

Within  the  mountain's  hollow  side 
A  cavern  stretches  high  and  wide ; 
A  hundred  entries  thither  lead ; 
A  hundred  voices  thence  proceed, 
Each  uttering  forth  the  Sibyl's  rede. 
The  sacred  threshold  now  they  trod : 
"  Pray  for  an  answer !  pray!  the  god," 

She  cries,  "  the  god  is  nigh !  " 
And  as  before  the  doors  in  view 
She  stands,  her  visage  pales  its  hue, 
Her  locks  dishevelled  fly, 
Her  breath  comes  thick,  her  wild  heart  glows, 
Dilating  as  the  madness  grows, 
Her  form  looks  larger  to  the  eye, 


120  CLASSIC  LATIN  COURSE  IX  ENGLISH. 

Unearthly  peals  her  deep-toned  cry, 
As  breathing  nearer  and  more  near 
The  god  conies  rushing  on  his  seer. 
14  So  slack,"  cried  she,  4<  at  work  divine? 
Pray,  Trojan,  pray !  not  else  the  shrine 
Its  spellbound  silence  breaks." 

Thus  adjured,  JEneas  falls  to  praying  with  pious  pagan  zeal. 
The  result  is  marked  and  immediate.  The  maiden  seer  is  as 
drunk  as  a  pantheist  with  god,  that  is,  with  Apollo  : 

The  seer,  impatient  of  control, 

Raves  in  the  cavern  vast, 
And  madly  struggles  from  her  soul 

The  incumbent  power  to  cast : 
He,  mighty  Master,  plies  the  more 
Her  foaming  mouth,  all  chafed  and  sore, 
Tames  her  wild  heart  with  plastic  hand, 
And  makes  her  docile  to  command. 
Now,  all  untouched,  the  hundred  gates 
Fly  open,  and  proclaim  the  fates. 

The  fates  are  troubled,  ending  in  conquest,  for  ^Enea.s.  The 
prophet^maid  has  a  dreadful  convulsion  all  the  time,  which 
J3neas  waits  to  see  a  little  composed  before  he  boastfully 
prefers  his  request  to  be  admitted  to  the  lower  world.  The 
Sibyl  told  him,  in  words  that  have  become  as  famous  as  any  in 

poetry, 

Facilis  descensus  Averni,  etc., 

which  Mr.  Conington  translates : 

The  journey  down  to  the  abyss 

Is  prosperous  and  light : 
The  palace-gates  of  gloomy  Dis 

Stand  open  day  and  night : 
But  upward  to  retrace  the  way 
And  pass  into  the  light  of  day 
There  comes  the  stress  of  labor ;  this 

May  task  a  hero's  might. 

She  uses  powerfully  deterrent  language,  but  bids  jEneas,  if  he 
still  will  try  the  journey,  go  into  the  woods  and  look  till  he 
finds  a  certain  mystic  golden  bough  which  may  serve  as 


VIRGIL.  121 

passport  to  the  regions  of  the  dead.  With  much  ado,  this 
branch  is  found.  Then  sacrifice  is  offered  and,  with  a  warn- 
ing cry,  "Back,  ye  unhallowed,"  to  all  besides,  she  invites 
.2Eneas  to  follow  her  and  plunges  into  the  cave. 

Here  Virgil  puts  up  a  prayer  in  his  own  behalf  for  per- 
mission to  go  on  and  tell  what  he  has  resolved  on  telling  : 

Eternal  Powers,  whose  sway  controls 

The  empire  of  departed  souls, 

Ye  too,  throughout  whose  wide  domain 

Black  Night  and  grisly  Silence  reign, 

Hoar  Chaos,  awful  Phlegethon, 

What  ear  has  heard  let  tongue  make  known : 

Vouchsafe  your  sanction,  nor  forbid 

To  utter  things  in  darkness  hid. 

Permitted  or  not,  Virgil  proceeds  with  his  disclosure.    Of 
2Eneas  and  his  guide,  he  says  : 

Along  the  illimitable  shade 

Darkling  and  lone  their  way  they  made, 

Through  the  vast  kingdom  of  the  dead, 

An  empty  void,  though  tenanted : 

So  travelers  in  a  forest  move 

With  but  the  uncertain  moon  above, 

Beneath  her  niggard  light, 
When  Jupiter  has  hid  from  view 
The  heaven,  and  Nature's  every  hue 

Is  lost  in  blinding  night. 

The  shapes  that  haunt,   as  porters  and  portresses,   about 
the  entrance  of  Hades  are  a  grim  group  : 

At  Orcus'  portals  hold  their  lair 
Wild  Sorrow  and  avenging  Care ; 
And  pale  Diseases  cluster  there,       v 

And  pleasureless  Decay, 
Foul  Penury,  and  Fears  that  kill, 
And  Hunger,  counselor  of  ill, 

A  ghastly  presence  they : 
Suffering  and  Death  the  threshold  keep 
And  with  them  Death's  blood-brother,  Sleep: 
111  Joys  with  their  seducing  spells 

And  deadly  War  are  at  the  door ; 
The  Furies  couch  in  iron  cells 


122  CLASSIC  LATIN  COURSE  IN  ENGLISH. 

And  Discord  maddens  and  rebels ; 

Her  snake-locks  hiss,  her  wreaths  drip  gore. 

The  description  of  the  journey  proceeds  : 

The  threshold  passed,  the  road  leads  on 

To  Tartarus  and  to  Acheron. 

At  distance  rolls  the  infernal  flood, 

Seething  and  swollen  with  turbid  mud, 

And  into  dark  Cocytus  pours 

The  burden  of  its  oozy  stores. 

Grim,  squalid,  foul,  with  aspect  dire, 

His  eyeballs  each  a  globe  of  fire, 

The  watery  passage  Charon  keeps, 

Sole  warden  of  those  murky  deeps : 

A  sordid  mantle  round  him  thrown 

Girds  breast  and  shoulder  like  a  zone. 

He  plies  the  pole  with  dexterous  ease, 

Or  sets  the  sail  to  catch  the  breeze, 

Ferrying  the  legions  of  the  dead 

In  bark  of  dusky  iron-red, 

Now  marked  with  age ;  but  heavenly  powers 

Have  fresher,  greener  eld  than  ours. 

Towards  the  ferry  and  the  shore 

The  multitudinous  phantoms  pour ; 

Matrons,  and  men,  and  heroes  dead, 

And  boys  and  maidens  yet  unwed, 

And  youths  who  funeral  fires  have  fed 

Before  their  parents'  eye : 
Dense  as  the  leaves  that  from  the  treen 
Float  down  when  autumn  first  is  keen, 
Or  as  the  birds  that  thickly  massed 
Fly  landward  from  the  ocean  vast, 
Driven  over  sea  by  wintry  blast 

To  seek  a  sunnier  sky. 
Each  in  pathetic  suppliance  stands, 

So  may  he  first  be  ferried  o'er, 
And  stretches  out  his  helpless  hands 

In  yearning  for  the  farther  shore. 
The  ferryman,  austere  and  stern, 
Takes  these  and  those  in  varying  turn, 
While  other  some  he  scatters  wide, 
And  chases  from  the  river  side. 
JEneas,  startled  at  the  scene, 
Cries,  "  Tell  me,  priestess,  what  may  mean 

This  concourse  to  the  shore  ? 


VIBGIiL.  128 

What  cause  can  shade  from  shade  divide 
That  these  should  leave  the  river  side, 

Those  sweep  the  dull  waves  o'er  ?  " 
The  ancient  seer  made  brief  reply : 
"  Anchises'  seed,  of  those  on  high 

The  undisputed  heir, 
Cocytus'  pool,  and  Styx  you  see, 
The  stream  by  whose  dread  majesty 

No  god  will  falsely  swear. 
A,  helpless  and  unburied  crew 
Is  this  that  swarms  before  your  view : 
The  boatman,  Charon :  whom  the  wave 
Is  carrying,  these  have  found  their  grave. 
For  never  man  may  travel  o'er 
That  dark  and  dreadful  flood  before 

His  bones  are  in  the  urn. 
E'en  till  a  hundred  years  are  told 
They  wander  shivering  in  the  cold : 
At  length  admitted  they  behold 

The  stream  for  which  they  yearn." 

There  is  now  an  encounter,  on  JEneas's  part,  with  pilot 
Palinurus  lost  overboard  on  the  voyage,  disconsolate  because 
his  corpse  lies  unburied.  The  Sibyl  promises  the  shade  that 
the  coast  where  he  perished  shall  bear  a  name  associated 
with  his  own — whereat  his  grief  is  comforted  !  What  an 
irony,  such  comfort — irony  probably  not  intended  by  Virgil, 
who  was  no  cynic — on  posthumous  fame  ! 

The  two  adventurers,  .ZEneas  and  the  Sibyl,  come  in  due 
course  to  the  banks  of  the  Styx.  Charon,  the  infernal  ferry- 
man, challenges  .(Eneas,  but  the  Sibyl  speaks  the  hero's  name 
and  shows  the  golden  branch.  This  satisfies  Charon,  and  he 
lets  JEneas  step  into  his  boat.  The  crazy  bark  sinks  deep 
under  living  weight,  but  they  all  get  safe  across.  It  was  to 
a  gruesome  place  : 

Lo !  Cerberus  with  three-throated  bark 

Makes  all  the  region  ring, 
Stretched  out  along  the  cavern  dark 

That  fronts  their  entering. 
The  seer  perceived  his  monstrous  head 


124  CLASSIC  LATIN  COURSE  IN  ENGLISH. 

All  bristling  o'er  with  snakes  uproused, 
And  toward  him  flings  a  sop  of  bread 

With  poppy-seed  and  honey  drowsed. 
He  with  his  triple  jaws  dispread 

Snaps  up  the  morsel  as  it  falls, 
Relaxes  his  huge  frame  as  dead, 

And  o'er  the  cave  extended  sprawls. 
The  sentry  thus  in  slumber  drowned, 
-.Eneas  takes  the  vacant  ground, 
And  quickly  passes  from  the'side 
Of  the  irremeable  tide. 

("Ir-re'me-a-ble"  (not  to  be  repassed)  is  Virgil's  own  stately 
Latin  polysyllable,  irremeatnlis,  transferred  almost  without 
change  into  English.  In  making  this  impressive  transfer 
Conington  follows  Dry  den.) 

Hark !  as  they  enter,  shrieks  arise, 

And  wailing  great  and  sore, 
The  souls  of  infants  uttering  cries 

At  ingress  of  the  door, 
Whom,  portionless  of  life's  sweet  bliss, 

From  mother's  breast  untimely  torn, 
The  black  day  hurried  to  the  abyss 

And  plunged  in  darkness  soon  as  born. 
Next  those  are  placed  whom  Slander's  breath 
By  false  arraignment  did  to  death. 
Nor  lacks  e'en  here  the  law's  appeal, 
Nor  sits  no  judge  the  lots  to  deal. 
Sage  Minos  shakes  the  impartial  urn, 

And  calls  a  court  of  those  below, 
The  life  of  each  intent  to  learn 

And  what  the  cause  that  wrought  them  woe. 
Next  comes  their  portion  in  the  gloom 
Who  guiltless  sent  themselves  to  doom, 
And  all  for  loathing  of  the  day 
In  madness  threw  their  lives  away : 
How  gladly  now  in  upper  air 
Contempt  and  beggary  would  they  bear, 

And  labor's  sorest  pain ! 
Fate  bars  the  way :  around. their  keep 
The  slow  unlovely  waters  creep 

And  bind  with  ninefold  chain. 

Another  class  were  there  whom  love  had  slain.    Virgil,  of 


VIRGIL.  125 

course,  does  not  "slip  the  occasion" — indeed  it  was  probably 
an  occasion  expressly  created  by  the  poet — to  bring  about 
a  dramatic  encounter  between  JEneas  and  Dido.  The  total 
effect  commends  Virgil's  art ;  for  the  reader  is  gratefully  re- 
lieved in  his  feeling  as  to  both  the  two  personages  con- 
cerned : 

'Mid  these  among  the  branching  treen 

Sad  Dido  moved,  the  Tyrian  queen, 

Her  death- wound  ghastly  yet  and  green. 

Soon  as  jEneas  caught  the  view 

And  through  the  mist  her  semblance  knew, 

Like  one  who  spies  or  thinks  he  spies 

Through  flickering  clouds  the  new  moon  rise, 

The  tear-drop  from  his  eyelids  broke, 

And  thus  in  tenderest  tones  he  spoke : 

"  Ah  Dido !  rightly  then  I  read 

The  news  that  told  me  you  were  dead, 

Slain  by  your  own  rash  hand ! 
Myself  the  cause  of  your  despair ! 
Now  by  the  blessed  stars  I  swear, 
By  heaven,  by  all  that  dead  men  keep 
In  reverence  here  'mid  darkness  deep, 
Against  my  will,  ill-fated  fair, 

I  parted  from  your  land. 
The  gods,  at  whose  command  to-day 
Through  these  dim  shades  I  take  my  way, 
Thread  the  waste  realm  of  sunless  blight, 
And  penetrate  abysmal  night, 
They  drove  me  forth :  nor  could  I  know 
My  flight  would  work  such  cruel  woe : 
Stay,  stay  your  step  awhile,  nor  fly 
So  quickly  from  JEneas'  eye. 
Whom  would  you  shun  ?  this  brief  space  o'er, 
Fate  suffers  us  to  meet  no  more." 
Thus  while  the  briny  tears  run  down, 
The  hero  strives  to  calm  her  frown, 

Still  pleading  'gainst  disdain : 
She  on  the  ground  averted  kept 
Hard  eyes  that  neither  smiled  nor  wept, 
Nor  bated  more  of  her  stern  mood 
Than  if  a  monument  she  stood 

Of  firm  Marpesian  grain. 
At  length  she  tears  her  from  the  place 


126  CLASSIC  LATIN  COURSE  IN  ENGLISH. 

And  hies  her,  still  with  sullen  face, 

Into  the  embowering  grove, 
Where  her  first  lord,  Sychseus,  shares 
In  tender  interchange  of  cares 

And  gives  her  love  for  love ; 
^Eneas  tracks  her  as  she  flies, 
With  bleeding  heart  and  tearful  eyes. 

As  soon  as  JEneas  could  stanch  his  flowing  heart  and  eyes, 
he  with  his  guide  advanced  to  the  quarters  of  the  warrior 
dead.  Here  Trojan  ghosts  recognized  him : 

They  cluster  round  their  ancient  friend ; 

No  single  view  contents  their  eye : 
They  linger  and  his  steps  attend, 

And  ask  him  how  he  came,  and  why. 

Upon  the  Grecian  slain  a  quite  different  effect  is  produced 
by  the  sight  of  ^Eneas  : 

Some  huddle  in  promiscuous  rout 

As  erst  at  Troy  they  sought  the  fleet ; 

Some  feebly  raise  the  battle-shout ; 

Their  straining  throats  the  thin  tones  flout 
Unformed  and  incomplete. 

The  Sibyl  checks  a  colloquy  between  JSneas  and  De-ipb/o- 
bus  with  reminder  that  the  time  was  passing.  Deiphobus 
flees,  and  JEneas  now  beholds  a  gloomy  prison  house  of  pain. 
Virgil  describes  and,  through  the  Sibyl,  relates  : 

Hark  !  from  within  there  issue  groans 

The  cracking  of  the  thong, 
The  clank  of  iron  o'er  the  stones 

Dragged  heavily  along. 
JEneas  halted,  and  drank  in 
With  startled  ear  the  fiendish  din : 
"  What  forms  of  crime  are  these?  "  he  cries, 

"  What  shapes  of  penal  woe  ? 
What  piteous  wails  assault  the  skies  ? 

O  maid !  I  fain  would  know." 
"  Brave  chief  of  Troy,"  returned  the  seer, 
"  No  soul  from  guilt's  pollution  clear 

May  yon  foul  threshold  tread : 
But  me  when  royal  Hecate  made 
Controller  of  the  Avernian  shade, 


VIRGIL.  127 

The  realms  of  torture  she  displayed, 

And  through  their  horrors  led. 
Stern  monarch  of  these  dark  domains, 
The  Gnosian  Rhadamanthus  reigns : 
He  hears  and  judges  each  deceit, 

And  makes  the  soul  those  crimes  declare 
Which,  glorying  in  the  empty  cheat, 

It  veiled  from  sight  in  upper  air. 
Swift  on  the  guilty,  scourge  in  hand, 

Leaps  fell  Tisiphone,  and  shakes 

Full  in  their  face  her  loathly  snakes, 
And  calls  her  sister  band. 
Then,  not  till  then,  the  hinges  grate, 
And  slowly  opes  the  infernal  gate. 
See  you  who  sits  that  gate  to  guard? 
What  presence  there  keeps  watch  and  ward  ? 
Within,  the  Hydra's  direr  shape 
Sits  with  her  fifty  throats  agape. 
Then  Tartarus  with  sheer  descent 

Dips  'neath  the  ghost- world  twice  as  deep 
As  towers  above  earth's  continent 

The  height  of  heaven's  Olympian  steep. 
'Tis  there  the  eldest  born  of  earth, 
The  children  of  Titanic  birth, 
Hurled  headlong  by  the  lightning's  blast, 
Deep  in  the  lowest  gulf  are  cast. 
Aloeus'  sons  there  met  my  eyes, 
Twin  monsters  of  enormous  size, 
Who  stormed  the  gate  of  heaven,  and  strove 
From  his  high  seat  to  pull  down  Jove. 
Salmoneus  too  I  saw  in  chains, 
The  victim  of  relentless  pains, 
While  Jove's  own  flame  he  tries  to  mock 
And  emulate  the  thunder-shock. 
By  four  fleet  coursers  chariot-borne 
And  scattering  brands  in  impious  scorn 

Through  Elis'  streets  he  rode, 
All  Greece  assisting  at  the  show, 
And  claimed  of  fellow-men  below 

The  honors  of  a  god : 

Fond  fool !  to  think  that  thunderous  crash 
And  heaven's  inimitable  flash 
Man's  puny  craft  could  counterfeit 
With  rattling  brass  and  horsehoof 's  beat. 
Lo  J  from  the  sky  the  Almighty  Sire 


128  CLASSIC  LATIN  COURSE  IN  ENGLISH. 

The  levin-bolt's  authentic  fire 

'Mid  thickest  darkness  sped 
(No  volley  his  of  pine- wood  smoke) 
And  with  the  inevitable  stroke 

Dispatched  him  to  the  dead. 
There  too  is  Tityos  the  accurst, 
By  earth's  all-fostering  bosom  nurst : 
O'er  acres  nine  from  end  to  end 
His  vast  unmeasured  limbs  extend : 
A  vulture  on  his  liver  preys : 
The  liver  fails  not  nor  decays ; 
Still  o'er  that  flesh,  which  breeds  new  pangs, 
With  crooked  beak  the  torturer  hangs, 
Explores  its  depth  with  bloody  fangs, 

And  searches  for  her  food ; 
Still  haunts  the  cavern  of  his  breast, 
Nor  lets  the  filaments  have  rest, 

To  endless  pain  renewed. 
Why  should  I  name  the  Lapith  race, 
Pirithous  and  Ixion  base  ? 
A  frowning  rock  their  heads  o'ertops, 
Which  ever  nods  and  almost  drops : 
Couches  where  golden  pillars  shine 
Invite  them  freely  to  recline, 
And  banquets  smile  before  their  eyne 

With  kingly  splendor  proud : 
When  lo  I  fell  malice  in  her  mien, 
Beside  them  lies  the  Furies'  queen : 
From  the  rich  fare  she  bars  their  hand, 
Thrusts  in  their  face  her  sulphurous  brand, 

And  thunders  hoarse  and  loud. 
Here  those  who  wronged  a  brother's  love, 

Assailed  a  sire's  grey  hair, 
Or  for  a  trustful  client  wove 

A  treachery  and  a  snare, 
Who  wont  on  hoarded  wealth  to  brood, 
In  sullen  selfish  solitude, 
Nor  call  their  friends  to  share  the  good 

(The  most  in  number  they) 
With  those  whom  vengeance  robbed  of  life 
For  guilty  love  of  other's  wife, 
And  those  who  drew  the  unnatural  sword, 
Or  broke  the  bond  'twixt  slave  and  lord, 

Await  the  reckoning  day. 
Ask  not  their  doom,  nor  seek  to  know 


VIRGIL.  129 

What  depth  receives  them  there  below. 
Some  roll  huge  rocks  up  rising  ground, 
Or  hang,  to  whirling  wheels  fast  bound : 
There  in  the  bottom  of  the  pit 
Sits  Theseus,  and  will  ever  sit : 
And  Phlegyas  warns  the  ghostly  crowd, 
Proclaiming  through  the  shades  aloud, 
"  Behold,  and  learn  to  practice  right, 
Nor  do  the  blessed  gods  despite." 
This  to  a  tyrant  master  sold 
His  native  land  for  cursed  gold, 

Made  laws  for  lucre  and  unmade : 
That  dared  his  daughter's  bed  to  climb : 
All,  all  essayed  some  monstrous  crime, 

And  perfected  the  crime  essayed. 
No — had  I  e'en  a  hundred  tongues, 
A  hundred  mouths,  and  iron  lungs, 
Those  types  of  guilt  I  could  not  show, 
Nor  tell  the  forms  of  penal  woe. 

The  Sibyl,  ending  thus,  once  more  hastens  ^Eneas,  and  they 
go  on  to  the  dwelling  place  of  the  happy  dead.  At  the  en- 
trance, vEneas  deposits  his  golden  bough.  Virgil  describes 
Elysium  and  its  inhabitants  : 

Green  spaces,  folded  in  with  trees, 

A  paradise  of  pleasances. 

Around  the  champaign  mantles  bright 

The  fullness  of  purpureal  light ; 

Another  sun  and  stars  they  know, 

That  shine  like  ours,  but  shine  below. 

There  some  disport  their  manly  frames 

In  wrestling  and  palaestral  games, 

Strive  on  the  grassy  sward,  or  stand 

Contending  on  the  yellow  sand : 

Some  ply  the  dance  with  eager  feet 

And  chant  responsive  to  its  beat. 

The  priest  of  Thrace  in  loose  attire 

Makes  music  on  his  seven-stringed  lyre; 

The  sweet  notes  'neath  his  fingers  trill, 

Or  tremble  'neath  his  ivory  quill. 

Here  dwell  the  chiefs  from  Teucer  sprung, 

Brave  heroes,  born  when  earth  was  young, 

Ilus,  Assaracus,  and  he 

Who  gave  his  name  to  Dardany. 


130  CLASSIC  LATIN  COURSE  IN  ENGLISH. 

Marveling,  ^Eneas  sees  from  far 
The  ghostly  arms,  the  shadowy  car. 
Their  spears  are  planted  in  the  mead : 
Free  o'er  the  plain  their  horses  feed : 
Whate'er  the  living  found  of  charms 
In  chariot  and  refulgent  arms, 
Whate'er  their  care  to  tend  and  groom 
Their  glossy  steeds,  outlives  the  tomb. 
Others  along  the  sward  he  sees 
Reclined,  and  feasting  at  their  ease 

With  chanted  Paeans,  blessed  souls, 
Amid  a  fragrant  bay-tree  grove, 
Whence  rising  in  the  world  above 
Eridanus  'twixt  bowing  trees 

His  breadth  of  water  rolls. 

Here  sees  he  the  illustrious  dead 
Who  fighting  for  their  country  bled ; 
Priests,  who  while  earthly  life  remained 
Preserved  that  life  unsoiled,  unstained ; 
Blest  bards,  transparent  souls  and  clear, 
Whose  song  was  worthy  Phoebus'  ear ; 
Inventors,  who  by  arts  refined 
The  common  life  of  human  kind, 
With  all  who  grateful  memory  won 
By  services  to  others  done : 
A  goodly  brotherhood,  bedight 
With  coronals  of  virgin  white. 
There  as  they  stream  along  the  plain 
The  Sibyl  thus  accosts  the  train, 
Musseus  o'er  the  rest,  for  he 
Stands  midmost  in  that  company, 
His  stately  head  and  shoulders  tall 
O'ertopping  and  admired  of  all : 
"  Say,  happy  souls,  and  thou,  blest  seer, 

In  what  retreat  Anchises  bides : 
To  look  on  him  we  journey  here, 

Across  the  dread  Avernian  tides." 
And  answer  to  her  quest  in  brief 
Thus  made  the  venerable  chief: 
"  No  several  home  has  each  assigned ; 
We  dwell  where  forest  pathways  wind, 
Haunt  velvet  banks  'neath  shady  treen, 
And  meads  with  rivulets  fresh  and  green ; 
But  climb  with  me  this  ridgy  hill, 


VIRGIL.  131 

Yon  path  shall  take  you  where  you  will." 
He  said,  and  led  the  way,  and  showed 

The  fields  of  dazzling  light : 
They  gladly  choose  the  downward  road, 

And  issue  from  the  height. 

They  find  Anchises  busy  at  an  employment  which  must 
have  afforded  that  highly  patriotic  old  gentleman  much 
pleasure.  He  was  surveying  the  yet  unborn  generations  of 
his  own  destined  progeny.  For  this  Elysium  seems  to  have 
been  not  only  the  home  of  the  beatified  dead,  but  a  waiting- 
place,  an  ante-room,  for  those  that  were  to  live.  Anchises 
descries  .ZEneas  and  salutes  him.  The  son  striving  to  embrace 
the  sire  is  cheated  with  an  intangible  phantom  in  his  grasp. 
But  a  new  sight  diverts  his  mind  : 

Deep  woodlands,  where  the  evening  gale 

Goes  whispering  through  the  trees, 
And  Lethe  river,  which  flows  by 
Those  dwellings  of  tranquillity. 
Nations  and  tribes,  in  countless  ranks, 
Were  crowding  to  its  verdant  banks : 
As  bees  afield  in  summer  clear 
Beset  the  flowerets  far  and  near 
And  round  the  fair  white  lilies  pour : 
The  deep  hum  sounds  the  champaign  o'er. 
jEneas,  startled  at  the  scene, 
Asks  wondering  what  the  noise  may  mean, 
What  river  this,  or  what  the  throng 
That  crowds  so  thick  its  banks  along. 

Anchises  replying  describes  a  kind  of  purgatory  in  which 
souls  linger,  to  become  pure  through  pain,  until,  after  the  lapse 
of  a  millennium,  summoned  they  come  to  the  banks  of  Lethe 
and  thence  drinking  forget  the  past  and  are  born  anew  into 
the  world  of  men.  Headers  will  hardly  need  to  be  told  that 
Virgil  has  thus  prepared  his  way  for  going  over,  in  a  novel 
and  striking  manner,  the  whole  range  of  Roman  history.  It 
will  be  prophecy  at  excellent  advantage,  for  it  will  be 
prophecy  after  the  fact.  There  will  be  in  it  magnificent  oppor- 


132  CLASSIC  LATIN  COURSE  IN  ENGLISH. 

tunity  offered  for  compliment  to  the  imperial  house  of  Rome. 
Such  compliment  Virgil  prepares,  compliment  more  elaborate 
and  more  lofty  than  perhaps  ever  before  or  since  in  the  annals 
of  literature  was  laid  by  poet  at  the  feet  of  his  prince.  An- 
chises  leads  his  son  JEneas  with  the  Sibyl  to  a  "specular 
mount," 

whence  the  eye 

Might  form  and  countenance  descry, 
As  each  one  passed  along. 

Anchises  then  takes  up  the  office  of  herald  or  usher,  and  an- 
nounces the  name  and  quality  of  the  illustrious  descendants 
who  should  prolong  and  decorate  the  Trojan  line.  We  quote  : 

"  Now  listen  what  the  future  fame 
Shall  follow  the  Dardanian  name, 

What  glorious  spirits  wait 
Our  progeny  to  furnish  forth : 
My  tongue  shall  name  each  soul  of  worth, 

And  show  you  of  your  fate. 
See  you  yon  gallant  youth  advance 
Leaning  upon  a  headless  lance  ? 
He  next  in  upper  air  holds  place, 
First  offspring  of  the  Italian  race 
Commixed  with  ours,  your  latest  child 
By  Alban  name  of  Silvius  styled, 
Whom  to  your  eye  Lavinia  fair 
In  silvan  solitude  shall  hear, 
King,  sire  of  kings,  by  whom  comes  down 
Through  Trojan  hands  the  Alban  crown. 
Nearest  to  him  see  Procas  shine, 
The  glory  of  Dardania's  line, 
And  Numitor  and  Capys  too, 
And  one  that  draws  his  name  from  you, 
Silvius  ./Eneas,  mighty  he 
Alike  in  arms  and  piety, 
Should  Fate's  high  pleasure  e'er  command 
The  Alban  scepter  to  his  land. 
Look  how  they  bloom  in  youth's  fresh  flower ! 
What  promise  theirs  of  martial  power ! 
Mark  you  the  civic  wreath  they  wear, 
The  oaken  garland  in  their  hair? 
These,  these  are  they,  whose  hands  shall  crown 


VIBGIL.  133 

The  mountain  heights  with  many  a  town. 
Shall  Gabii  and  Nomentum  rear, 
There  plant  Collatia,  Cora  here, 
And  leave  to  after  years  their  stamp 
On  Bola  and  on  Inuus'  camp : 
Names  that  shall  then  be  far  renowned, 
Now  nameless  spots  of  unknown  ground. 
There  to  his  grandsire's  fortune  clings 

Young  Romulus  of  Mars'  true  breed ; 
From  Ilia's  womb  the  warrior  springs, 

Assaracus'  authentic  seed. 
See  on  his  helm  the  double  crest, 
The  token  by  his  sire  impressed, 
That  marks  him  out  betimes  to  share 
The  heritage  of  upper  air. 
Lo !  by  his  fiat  called  to  birth 

Imperial  Rome  shall  rise, 
Extend  her  reign  to  utmost  earth, 

Her  genius  to  the  skies, 
And  with  a  wall  of  girdling  stone 
Embrace  seven  hills  herself  alone — 
Blest  in  an  offspring  wise  and  strong : 
So  through  great  cities  rides  along 

The  mighty  Mother,  crowned  with  towers, 
Around  her  knees  a  numerous  line, 
A  hundred  grandsons,  all  divine, 

All  tenants  of  Olympian  bowers. 

"  Turn  hither  now  your  ranging  eye : 
Behold  a  glorious  family, 

Your  sons  and  sons  of  Rome : 
Lo !  Csesar  there  and  all  his  seed, 
lulus'  progeny,  decreed 

To  pass  'neath  heaven's  high  dome. 
This,  this  is  he,  so  oft  the  theme 
Of  your  prophetic  fancy's  dream, 

Augustus  Csesar,  Jove's  own  strain ; 
Restorer  of  the  age  of  gold 
In  lands  where  Saturn  ruled  of  old : 
O'er  Ind  and  Garamant  extreme 

Shall  stretch  his  boundless  reign. 
Look  to  that  land  which  lies  afar 
Beyond  the  path  of  sun  or  star, 
Where  Atlas  on  his  shoulder  rears 
The  burden  of  the  incumbent  spheres. 


134  CLASSIC  LATIN  COURSE  IN  ENGLISH. 

Egypt  e'en  now  and  Caspia  hear 

The  muttered  voice  of  many  a  seer, 

And  Nile's  seven  mouths,  disturbed  with  fear, 

Their  coming  conqueror  know : 
Alcides  in  his  savage  chase 
Ne'er  traveled  o'er  so  wide  a  space, 
What  though  the  brass-hoofed  deer  he  killed, 
And  Erymanthus'  forest  stilled, 
And  Lerna's  depth  with  terror  thrilled 
At  twanging  of  his  bow : 
Nor  stretched  his  conquering  march  so  far, 
Who  drove  his  ivy-harnessed  car 
From  Nysa's  lofty  height,  and  broke 
The  tiger's  spirit  'neath  his  yoke. 
And  shrink  we  in  this  glorious  hour 
From  bidding  worth  assert  her  power, 
Or  can  our  craven  hearts  recoil 
From  settling  on  Ausonian  soil  ? 

"  But  who  is  he  at  distance  seen 
With  priestly  garb  and  olive  green  ? 
That  reverend  beard,  that  hoary  hair 
The  royal  sage  of  Rome  declare, 
Who  first  shall  round  the  city  draw 
The  limitary  lines  of  law, 
Called  forth  from  Cures'  petty  town 
To  bear  the  burden  of  a  crown. 
Then  he  whose  voice  shall  break  the  rest 
That  lulled  to  sleep  a  nation's  breast, 
And  sound  in  languid  ears  the  cry 
Of  Tullus  and  of  victory. 

Say,  shall  I  show  you  face  to  face 
The  monarchs  of  Tarquinian  race, 
And  vengeful  Brutus,  proud  to  wring 
The  people's  fasces  from  a  king? 
He  first  in  consul's  pomp  shall  lift 
The  axe  and  rods,  the  freeman's  gift, 
And  call  his  own  rebellious  seed 
For  menaced  liberty  to  bleed. 
Unhappy  father  1  howsoe'er 

The  deed  be  judged  by  after  days, 
His  country's  love  shall  all  o'erbear, 

And  unextinguished  thirst  of  praise. 
There  move  the  Decii,  Drusus  here, 


VIRGIL.  135 


Torquatus,  too,  with  axe  severe, 
And  great  Camillus :  mark  him  show 
Rome's  standards  rescued  from  the  foe ! 
But  those  who  side  by  side  you  see 

In  equal  armor  bright, 
Now  twined  in  bonds  of  amity 

While  yet  they  dwell  in  night, 
Alas !  how  terrible  their  strife, 
If  e'er  they  win  their  way  to  life, 

How  fierce  the  shock  of  war, 
This  kinsman  rushing  to  the  fight 
From  castellated  Alpine  height, 
That  leading  his  embattled  might 

From  farthest  morning  star ! 
Nay,  children,  nay,  your  hate  unlearn, 
Nor  'gainst  your  country's  vitals  turn 

The  valor  of  her  sons : 
And  thou,  do  thou  the  first  refrain ; 
Cast  down  thy  weapons  on  the  plain, 
Thou,  born  of  Jove's  Olympian  strain, 

In  whom  my  lifeblood  runs ! 

"One,  victor  in  Corinthian  war, 
Up  Capitol  shall  drive  his  car, 

Proud  of  Achseans  slain : 
And  one  My  cense  shall  o'erthrow, 
The  city  of  the  Atridan  foe, 
And  e'en  JEacides  destroy, 
Achilles'  long-descended  boy, 
In  vengeance  for  his  sires  of  Troy, 

And  Pallas'  plundered  fane. 
Who  mighty  Cato,  Cossus,  who 

Would  keep  your  names  concealed 
The  Gracchi,  and  the  Scipios  two, 

The  levins  of  the  field, 
Serranus  o'er  his  furrow  bowed, 
Or  thee,  Fabricius,  poor  yet  proud  ? 
Ye  Fabii,  must  your  actions  done 
The  speed  of  panting  praise  outrun  ? 
Our  greatest  thou,  whose  wise  delay 
Restores  the  fortune  of  the  day. 
Others,  I  ween,  with  happier  grace 
From  bronze  or  stone  shall  call  the  face, 
Plead  doubtful  causes,  map  the  skies, 
And  tell  when  planets  set  or  rise : 


136  CLASSIC  LATIN  COURSE  IN  ENGLISH. 

But  ye,  my  Romans,  still  control 

The  nations  far  and  wide, 
Be  this  your  genius — to  impose 
The  rule  of  peace  on  vanquished  foes, 
Show  pity  to  the  humbled  soul, 

And  crush  the  sons  of  pride." 

Virgil,  they  say,  read  his  sixth  book  aloud  to  Augustus.  At 
the  reading,  Augustus's  sister,  Octavia,  was  present.  This 
sister  had  then  just  lost  a  son,  Marcellus,  dead  at  twenty  years 
of  age.  With  exquisite  art  of  adulation,  perhaps  too  of 
sincerely  sympathetic  consolation,  Virgil,  as  we  are  just  about 
to  show  our  readers,  introduced  at  this  point  a  noble  and 
delicate  tribute  to  young  Marcellus.  The  story  is  that  the 
mother  fainted  with  emotion  when  she  heard  it.  She  rallied, 
to  make  the  fortunate  poet  glad  with  a  great  gift  of  money. 
We  proceed  with  the  resumed  prophetic  strain  of  Anchises, 
allusive  now  to  Marcellus  : 

He  ceased ;  and  ere  their  awe  was  o'er, 
Took  up  his  prophecy  once  more : 
"  Lo,  great  Marcellus !  see  him  tower 
With  kingly  spoils,  in  conquering  power, 

The  warrior  host  above ! 
He  in  a  day  of  dire  debate 
Shall  stablish  firm  the  reeling  state, 
The  Carthaginian  bands  o'erride, 
Break  down  the  Gaul's  insurgent  pride, 
And  the  third  trophy  dedicate 

To  Rome's  Feretrian  Jove." 
Then  spoke  JEneas,  who  beheld 

Beside  the  warrior  pace 
A  youth,  full-armed,  by  none  excelled 

In  beauty's  manly  grace, 
But  on  his  brow  was  naught  of  mirth, 
And  his  fixed  eyes  were  dropped  on  earth ; 
"  Who,  father,  he,  who  thus  attends 

Upon  that  chief  divine  ? 
His  son,  or  other  who  descends 

From  his  illustrious  line? 
What  whispers  in  the  encircling  crowd  ? 
The  portance  of  his  step,  how  proud  ? 


VIRGIL.  137 


But  gloomy  night,  as  of  the  dead, 
Flaps  her  sad  pinions  o'er  his  head." 
The  sire  replies,  while  down  his  cheek 

The  tear-drops  roll  apace : 
"  Ah  son !  compel  me  not  to  speak 

The  sorrows  of  our  race ! 
That  youth  the  Fates  but  just  display 
To  earth,  nor  let  him  longer  stay : 
With  gifts  like  these  for  aye  to  hold, 
Rome's  heart  had  e'en  been  overbold. 
Ah  ?  what  a  groan  from  Mars' s  plain 

Shall  o'er  the  city  sound ! 
How  wilt  thou  gaze  on  that  long  train, 
Old  Tiber,  rolling  to  the  main 

Beside  his  new- raised  mound ! 
No  youth  of  Ilium's  seed  inspires 
With  hope  as  fair  his  Latian  sires : 
Nor  Rome  shall  dandle  on  her  knee 
A  nursling  so  adored  as  he. 
O  piety !  O  ancient  faith ! 
O  hand  untamed  in  battle  scathe ! 
No  foe  had  lived  before  his  sword, 

Stemmed  he  on  foot  the  war's  red  tide 
Or  with  relentless  rowel  gored 

His  foaming  charger's  side. 
Dear  child  of  pity !  shouldst  thou  burst 
The  dungeon-bars  of  Fate  accurst, 

Our  own  Marcellus  thou  ! 
Bring  lilies  here,  in  handfuls  bring : 
Their  lustrous  blooms  I  fain  would  fling : 
Such  honor  to  a  grandson's  shade 
By  grandsire  hands  may  well  be  paid : 

Yet  O !  it  'vails  not  now ! " 

Mid  such  discourse,  at  will  they  range 
The  mist-clad  region,  dim  and  strange. 
So  when  the  sire  the  son  had  led 
Through  all  the  ranks  of  happy  dead, 
And  stirred  his  spirit  into  flame 
At  thought  of  centuries  of  fame, 
With  prophet  power  he  next  relates 
The  war  that  in  the  future  waits, 
Italia' s  fated  realm  describes, 
Latinus'  town,  Laurentum's  tribes, 
And  tells  him  how  to  face  or  fly 


138  CLASSIC  LATIN  COURSE  IN  ENGLISH. 

Each  cloud  that  darkens  o'er  his  sky. — 
Sleep  gives  his  name  to  portals  twain  : 

One  all  of  horn,  they  say, 
Through  which  authentic  specters  gain 

Quick  exit  into  day, 

And  one  which  bright  with  ivory  gleams, 
Whence  Pluto  sends  delusive  dreams. 
Conversing  still  the  sire  attends 

The  travelers  on  their  road, 
And  through  the  ivory  portal  sends 

From  forth  the  unseen  abode. 
The  chief  betakes  him  to  the  fleet, 
Well  pleased  again  his  crew  to  meet : 
Then  for  Caieta's  port  sets  sail, 

Straight  coasting  by  the  strand : 
The  anchors  from  the  prow  they  hale, 

The  sterns  are  turned  to  land. 

Let  readers  remark  with  what  fine  artistic  self-restraint 
Virgil  at  the  close  dismisses  the  arduous  subject  of  the  sixth 
book.  No  effort  at  unnaturally  sustaining  the  tension  beyond 
its  just  end.  The  stream  of  his  verse  has  writhed  in  long 
subterranean  torture,  but  it  issues  placidly  in  light  and  peace, 
with  calm  unconscious  resumption  of  the  usual  flow  of  the 
narrative.  The  basis  of  the  whole  episode  is  Homeric,  but  the 
majestic  imperial  sweep  of  execution  is  purely,  inimitably, 
Virgilian. 

What  remains  of  the  poem  we  may  fairly  dispatch,  as 
necessarily  we  must,  within  very  brief  space.  JEneas,  thrifty 
soul,  secures  for  himself  a  royal  matrimonial  alliance,  which, 
however,  involves  him  in  war  with  a  rival,  Turnus  by  name. 
This  Turnus  is  the  foil  to  JEneas.  The  foil  is  almost  too  much 
for  the  hero.  It  is  decidedly  by  a  very  narrow  chance,  if  the 
reader's  sympathies  do  not  go  over  from  cold-blooded  ./Eneas 
to  the  side  of  Turnus  foredoomed  to  be  slain.  After  many 
oscillations  of  fortune  in  war,  the  narration  of  which  is  mixed 
and  prolonged  with  many  episodes  and  many  dialogues,  it 
is  finally  determined  that  Turnus  and  ^Eneas  shall  decide  the 


VIRGIL.  139 

strife  by  single  combat.  This  combat,  with  its  diversified 
incidents,  fills  up  the  measure  of  the  twelfth  and  last  book 
of  the  poem.  It  is  the  Iliad  over  again,  but  the  Iliad  fairly 
made  into  the  jEneid,  by  a  genius  in  Virgil  as  clearly  his  own 
as  the  genius  of  Homer  was  his.  We  quote  the  closing  lines. 
Turnus  is  overthrown,  after  heroic  struggle  against  a  foregone 
and  foreshown  conclusion  of  the  strife.  He  confesses  defeat, 
resigns  his  betrothed  to  ^Eneas,  but  begs  to  be  sent  back,  living 
or  dead,  to  his  father.  Now  Virgil  (Turnus  has  previously 
slain  Pallas,  a  Trojan  friend  of  ^Eneas,  and  is  now  wearing  as 
trophy  the  dead  warrior's  belt) : 

Rolling  his  eyes,  JSneas  stood, 

And  checked  his  sword,  athirst  for  blood. 

Now  faltering  more  and  more  he  felt 

The  human  heart  within  him  melt, 

When  round  the  shoulder  wreathed  in  pride 

The  belt  of  Pallas  he  espied, 

And  sudden  flashed  upon  his  view 

Those  golden  studs  so  well  he  knew, 

Which  Turnus  from  the  stripling  tore 

When  breathless  on  the  field  he  lay, 
And  on  his  breast  in  triumph  wore, 

Memorial  of  the  bloody  day. 
Soon  as  his  eyes  had  gazed  their  fill 
On  that  sad  monument  of  ill, 
Live  fury  kindling  every  vein, 
He  cries  with  terrible  disdain : 
"  What !  in  my  friend's  dear  spoils  arrayed 

To  me  for  mercy  sue  ? 
'Tis  Pallas,  Pallas  guides  the  blade : 
From  your  cursed  blood  his  injured  shade 

Thus  takes  the  atonement  due." 
Thus  as  he  spake,  his  sword  he  drave 

With  fierce  and  fiery  blow 
Through  the  broad  breast  before  him  spread : 
The  stalwart  limbs  grow  cold  and  dead  : 
One  groan  the  indignant  spirit  gave, 

Then  sought  the  shades  below. 

We  dismiss  our  task  with  Virgil  by  presenting  to  our  readers 
the  elaborate  parallel  that  Pope,  in  the  preface  to  his  trans- 


140  CLASSIC  LATIN  COUKSE  IN  ENGLISH. 

lation  of  the  Iliad,  draws  between  the  Greek  poet  and  the 
Roman: 

"  The  beauty  of  his  [Homer's]  numbers  is  allowed  by  the 
critics  to  be  copied  but  faintly  by  Virgil  himself,  though  they 
are  so  just  as  to  ascribe  it  to  the  nature  of  the  Latin  tongue. 
Indeed,  the  Greek  has  some  advantages,  both  from  the  natural 
sound  of  its  words,  and  the  turn  and  cadence  of  its  verse, 
which  agree  with  the  genius  of  no  other  language.  Virgil 
was  very  sensible  of  this,  and  used  the  utmost  diligence  in 
working  up  a  more  intractable  language  to  whatsoever  graces 
it  was  capable  of;  and  in  particular  never  failed  to  bring 
the  sound  of  his  line  to  a  beautiful  agreement  with  its  sense. 
[A  celebrated  instance  of  this  occurs  in  the  eighth  book, 
line  596 : 

Quadrupedante  putrem  sonitu  quatit  ungula  campum, 
to  represent  the  measured  numerous  tread  of  galloping  horses.] 
If  the  Grecian  poet  has  not  been  so  frequently  celebrated  on 
this  account  as  the  Roman,  the  only  reason  is  that  fewer  critics 
have  understood  one  language  than  the  other.  Dionysius 
of  Halicarnassus  has  pointed  out  many  of  our  author's  beauties 
in  this  kind,  in  his  treatise  of  the  '  Composition  of  Words. '  It 
suffices  at  present  to  observe  of  his  numbers,  that  they  flow 
with  so  much  ease  as  to  make  one  imagine  Homer  had  no 
other  care  than  to  transcribe  as  fast  as  the  Muses  dictated ; 
and  at  the  same  time  with  so  much  force  and  aspiring  vigor 
that  they  awaken  and  raise  us  like  the  sound  of  a  trumpet. 
They  roll  along  as  a  plentiful  river,  always  in  motion,  and 
always  full ;  while  we  are  borne  away  by  a  tide  of  verse,  the 
most  rapid  and  yet  the  most  smooth  imaginable. 

"Thus,  on  whatever  side  we  contemplate  Homer,  what 
principally  strikes  us  is  his  invention.  It  is  that  which  forms 
the  character  of  each  part  of  his  work ;  and  accordingly  we 
find  it  to  have  made  his  fable  more  extensive  and  copious  than 
any  other,  his  manners  more  lively  and  strongly  marked,  his 


VIRGUL.  141 

speeches  more  affecting  and  transported,  his  sentiments  more 
warm  and  sublime,  his  images  and  descriptions  more  full  and 
animated,  his  expression  more  raised  and  daring,  and  his 
numbers  more  rapid  and  various.  I  hope,  in  what  has  been 
said  of  Virgil,  with  regard  to  any  of  these  heads,  I  have  in  no 
way  derogated  from  his  character.  Nothing  is  more  absurd 
and  endless  than  the  common  method  of  comparing  eminent 
writers  by  an  opposition  of  particular  passages  in  them,  and 
forming  a  judgment  from  thence  of  their  merit  upon  the 
whole.  We  ought  to  have  a  certain  knowledge  of  the  prin- 
cipal character  and  distinguishing  excellence  of  each  :  it  is  in 
that  we  are  to  consider  him,  and  in  proportion  to  his  degree  in 
that  we  are  to  admire  him.  No  author  or  man  ever  excelled 
all  the  world  in  more  than  one  faculty  :  and  as  Homer  has 
done  this  in  invention,  Virgil  has  in  judgment ;  not  that 
we  are  to  think  Homer  wanted  judgment,  because  Virgil 
has  it  in  a  more  eminent  degree,  or  that  Virgil  wanted  inven- 
tion, because  Homer  possessed  a  larger  share  of  it ;  each  of 
these  great  authors  had  more  of  both  than  perhaps  any 
man  besides,  and  are  only  said  to  have  less  in  comparison  with 
one  another.  Homer  was  the  greater  genius,  Virgil  the  better 
artist.  In  one  we  most  admire  the  man,  in  the  other  the 
work ;  Homer  hurries  and  transports  us  with  a  command- 
ing impetuosity,  Virgil  leads  us  with  an  attractive  majesty  ; 
Homer  scatters  with  a  generous  profusion,  Virgil  bestows  with 
a  careful  magnificence  ;  Homer,  like  the  Nile,  pours  out 
his  riches  with  a  boundless  overflow  ;  Virgil,  like  a  river  in  its 
banks,  with  a  gentle  and  constant  stream.  When  we  behold 
their  battles,  methinks  the  two  poets  resemble  the  heroes  they 
celebrate.  Homer,  boundless  and  irresistible  as  Achilles, 
bears  all  before  him,  and  shines  more  and  more  as  the  tumult 
increases  ;  Virgil,  calmly  daring,  like  ./Eneas,  appears  un- 
disturbed in  the  midst  of  the  action,  disposes  all  about  him, 
and  conquers  with  tranquillity.  And  when  we  look  upon 


142  CLASSIC  LATIN  COUKSE  IN  ENGLISH. 

their  machines,  Homer  seems  like  his  own  Jupiter  in  his 
terrors,  shaking  Olympus,  scattering  the  lightnings,  and 
firing  the  heavens ;  Virgil,  like  the  same  power  in  his  benevo- 
lence, counseling  with  the  gods,  laying  plans  for  empires,  and 
regularly  ordering  his  whole  creation." 

The  shade  of  a  writer  worthy  to  have  been  thus  elaborately 
paralleled  by  Pope  with  Homer  might  well  lament  that  his 
great  work  in  its  original  text  should,  in  these  latter  times, 
have  come  to  be  studied  so  much  more  as  a  means  of  drill 
in  language  than  as  a  consummate  achievement  in  poetry. 

But  it  is  in  the  latter  way,  rather,  that  our  readers  have 
here  had  their  opportunity  to  study  the  JEneid. 


CHAPTEE  VII. 

LIVY. 

OF  Livy  the  man  little  is  known,  except  that  he  wrote  one 
of  the  most  delightful  histories  in  the  world.  To  him,  more 
perhaps  than  to  any  other  writer,  is  due  the  traditional  fame 
of  the  Romans  for  traits  of  high  character.  Roman  virtue  is 
not  wholly  a  figment  of  fancy  ;  for  of  virtue,  in  the  antique 
sense  of  that  word,  the  Romans,  with  the  Spartans,  certainly 
possessed  a  large  share.  But  Livy  is  of  all  men  the  man  who 
supplies  the  historic  or  mythologic  material  out  of  which  the 
current  lofty  ideal  of  Roman  character  has  been  constructed. 
Cato,  who  lived  before  Livy,  said  that  there  were  Roman 
stories  as  well  worthy  of  immortal  remembrance  as  any  stories 
told  of  the  Greeks — there  wanted  to  Rome  only  the  genius  of 
some  great  writer  to  tell  those  stories  properly.  That  occasion 
of  reproach  Livy  took  away. 

Ti'tus  Liv'i-us  Pat-a-vi/nus  we  know  was  born  at  Pad'ua,  in 
Italy.  His  last  name  was  derived  from  the  original  Latin 
designation,  Pa-ta'vi-um,  for  that  city.  He  was  the  great 
prose  poet  of  the  reign  of  Augustus.  Horace  and  Virgil  were 
coevals  of  his.  He  was  a  boy  of  fifteen  years  when  Csesar  fell 
at  the  base  of  Pompey's  statue. 

Besides  being  a  historian,  Livy  was  something  of  a  philoso- 
pher. The  things,  however,  that  he  wrote  as  philosopher 
survive  only  in  the  mention  of  Sen'e-ca.  The  two  functions, 
that  of  philosopher  and  that  of  historian,  he  kept  quite  dis- 
tinct. He  did  not  write  history  philosophically. 

143 


144  CLASSIC  LATIN  COURSE  IN  ENGLISH. 

Livy's  history  was  a  majestic  work,  covering  the  whole  sub- 
ject of  the  fortunes  of  Borne  from  the  founding  of  the  city 
down  almost  to  the  beginning  of  the  Christian  era.  What  an 
epic  in  prose  was  there !  But  of  the  hundred  and  fifty-two 
books  in  which  the  work  was  written,  only  thirty-five  books 
remain.  What  we  have  is  highly  interesting ;  but  what  we 
have  not,  as  well  in  quality  as  in  quantity,  would  be  a  far 
more  precious  possession.  We  have  lost  we  know  not  what ; 
but  we  guess  with  certainty  that  Livy's  account  of  the  Italian 
War  and  his  account  of  the  Civil  War  between  Marius  and 
Sulla,  which  are  among  the  many  things  missing,  would  have 
thrown  on  those  great  chapters  of  Boman  story  such  a  light 
as  now  is  not  to  be  collected  from  all  other  sources  taken  to- 
gether. 

Livy  apparently  published  his  work  in  installments.  He 
must  have  been  occupied  not  less  than  twenty  years  in  the 
composition.  This  we  gather  from  the  fact  that  in  the  last 
parts  of  the  history  there  are  events  recorded  that  did  not 
take  place  until  some  twenty  years  subsequently  to  the  issue 
of  the  first  installment.  The  history  has  been  divided  up  into 
sets  of  books,  ten  each  in  number,  hence  called  "decades." 
The  thirty-five  books  that  remain  give  us  the  first  decade,  the 
third,  and  the  fourth,  entire,  with  half  of  the  fifth.  There  are 
detached  fragments  from  the  rest. 

The  first  decade  deals  with  about  five  hundred  years  of  his- 
tory, from  the  founding  of  Borne  to  the  subjugation  by  Borne 
of  the  Sam/nites.  This  portion  of  the  work  has  little  claim, 
and  it  makes  little  claim,  to  the  character  of  history.  It  is 
confessedly  mythical  and  legendary,  rather  than  historical. 
But  most  entertaining  narrative  Livy  makes  of  his  material. 
"The  brave  days  of  old"  live  again,  with  power — a  power 
communicated  from  vivific  style — in  his  glowing  pages. 

One  spirited  legend  out  of  Livy's  treasury  of  such,  and  we 
will  pass  to  something  of  his  that  is  better  entitled  to  credit. 


IJVY.  145 

The  story  of  Cur'ti-us,  as  Livy  tells  it,  well  sums  up  the 
Roman's  ideal  of  civic  wealth  and  civic  virtue.  The  forum 
yawned  with  a  chasm  in  the  midst.  The  gods  said  it  would 
close  when  the  best  that  Rome  owned  was  cast  into  the  pit — 
then,  and  not  till  then.  She  tried  one  precious  thing  after 
another  in  vain.  The  bodeful  chasm  still  stretched  wide  its 
hungry  jaws.  Livy  now  : 

Then  young  Marcus  Curtius,  a  gallant  soldier,  chid  them  all  for 
doubting  that  there  could  be  any  better  thing  in  Rome  than  good 
weapons  and  a  stout  heart.  He  called  for  silence ;  and  looking  to- 
ward the  temples  of  the  immortal  gods  that  crowned  the  forum, 
and  toward  the  capitol,  he  lifted  his  hands  first  to  heaven,  and  then 
stretching  them  downward,  where  the  gulf  yawned  before  him,  in 
supplication  to  the  Powers  below,  he  solemnly  devoted  himself  to 
death.  Mounted  on  his  horse,  which  he  had  clothed  in  the  most 
splendid  trappings  that  could  be  found,  he  leaped,  all  armed,  into 
the  chasm,  while  crowds  of  men  and  women  showered  in  after 
him  precious  gifts  and  fruits. 

Of  course,  upon  this  costly  act  of  self-sacrifice,  there  was 
nothing  left  for  the  chasm  to  do,  but  close  up  and  hold  fast 
what  it  had  got.  The  fable  is  a  splendid  allegory  of  what 
patriots  do  by  thousands  upon  thousands  whenever  they  offer 
themselves  up  in  battle  to  die  for  their  country. 

There  is  probably  no  part  of  extant  Livy  more  vividly  inter- 
esting, and  interesting  to  a  wider  audience  of  modern  minds, 
than  is  the  long  and  checkered  story  of  that  Punic  War,  so- 
called,  in  which  the  figures  of  Han'ni-bal,  of  Fa/bi-us,  and  of 
Scipio  [Sip'i-o]  loom  large  and  splendid,  in  mutually  effective 
and  ennobling  contrast.  It  was  more,  far  more — that  long 
strife — than  a  conflict  of  individual  leaders,  of  rival  nations, 
of  antagonistic  races.  It  was  also  a  war  of  contending  politi- 
cal ideas,  of  opposing  historical  tendencies.  It  was  now  to  be 
decided  what  type  of  civilization,  what  spirit  of  civil  polity, 
should  rule  the  future.  The  sympathies  of  readers  will  almost 
certainly  be  enlisted  on  the  side  of  Carthaginian  Hannibal 
doomed  beforehand  to  final  defeat.  Such  is  the  secret  magic 


146  CLASSIC  LATIN  COURSE  IN  ENGLISH. 

of  a  great  human  personality.  But  we  may  console  ourselves. 
It  was  far  better  that  Rome  should  conquer,  as  she  did.  In 
this  case,  at  any  rate,  it  was  the  fitter  that  survived. 

Carthage,  when  the  long  duel  between  Carthage  and  Rome 
commenced,  was  apparently  a  full  equal  of  her  enemy  in 
promised  extent  and  duration  of  empire.  Rome,  indeed,  had 
now  become  supreme  mistress  of  Italy.  But  Carthage,  be- 
sides her  home  possessions  in  Africa,  had  established  impor- 
tant connections  with  many  points  on  the  Mediterranean 
coast.  She  was  a  maritime  power,  as  Rome  was  not.  She 
had  strong  foothold  in  Spain.  Sar-din'i-a  was  hers  and 
Cor'si-ca  and  the  Ba-le-ar/ic  Isles.  She  was  stretching 
a  cordon  of  colonies  along  the  border  of  Sicily,  with  de- 
signs upon  that  great  and  rich  island  as  a  whole.  This 
might  justly  be  deemed  an  indirect  menace  to  Rome.  Rome 
had  not  long  to  wait  for  a  desirable  opportunity  to  take 
up  the  gauntlet  that  Carthage  threw  down  at  her  feet.  The 
two  cities  closed  in  a  grapple  that,  having  lasted  twenty- 
three  years,  left  Rome  in  possession  of  Sicily.  This  struggle 
is  known  in  history  as  the  First  Punic  War.  (The  Carthagin- 
ians were  Phoenicians,  and  the  Phoenicians  were  by  the 
Romans  called  Poeni,  whence  "Punic"  as  the  name  of  the 
war.) 

The  Second  Punic  War  was  a  greater.  The  Carthaginian 
hero  of  it  was  Hannibal.  It  is  of  this  second  war  between 
Carthage  and  Rome  that  we  shall  here  let  Livy  treat.  The 
historian  had  a  generous  idea  of  the  magnitude  of  the  strug- 
gle. But  his  idea  was  not  exaggerated.  The  fortune  of  the 
world  was  decided  by  the  event  of  this  war.  History 
perhaps — or  is  this  too  much  to  suggest? — is  Indo-European 
instead  of  being  Semitic,  because  Rome  conquered  and  not 
Carthage.  Livy's  language  about  this  war  will  remind  read- 
ers of  what  Thu-cyd'i-des,  with  so  much  less  justness,  said  four 
hundred  years  earlier  about  the  Peloponnesian  War.  The  two 


LIVY.  147 

historians'  high  estimate  of  the  importance  of  the  subjects 
they  undertook  to  treat,  might  be  accepted  as  a  pledge  on 
their  part  of  devoting  to  the  treatment  the  best  exertions  of 
which  they  were  capable.  The  result  in  either  case  was  a 
masterpiece  of  historical  composition.  What  Livy,  compared 
with  Thucydides,  lacks  in  breadth  of  comprehension  and 
in  depth  of  insight,  he  quite  fully  makes  up  in  dash  and 
brilliancy  of  narrative.  Livy  has  the  advantage  of  Thucyd- 
ides in  largeness  of  theme  to  handle,  and  in  splendor  of 
exploit  to  describe.  The  passage  of  Livy  that  we  are  about  to 
present,  namely,  the  narrative  of  the  Second  Punic  War, 
stands  as  simply  an  important  part  of  a  much  larger  design, 
while  the  "  Peloponnesian  War"  of  Thucydides  was  con- 
ceived by  its  author  as  an  historical  monograph,  complete  in 
itself. 

Here  is  the  preface  that  Livy  prefixes  to  his  account  of  the 
Second  Punic  War.  It  marks  the  beginning  of  the  third  dec- 
ade of  his  work ;  that  is,  the  beginning  of  his  twenty-first 
book  : 

I  claim  leave  to  preface  a  portion  of  my  history  by  a  remark 
which  most  historians  make  at  the  beginning  of  their  whole  work. 
I  am  about  to  describe  the  most  memorable  war  ever  waged,  the 
war  which  the  Carthaginians,  under  the  leadership  of  Hannibal, 
waged  against  the  people  of  Rome.  Never  have  states  or  nations 
with  mightier  resources  met  in  arms,  and  never  had  these  two 
peoples  themselves  possessed  such  strength  and  endurance.  The 
modes  of  warfare  with  which  they  encountered  one  another  were 
not  unfamiliar,  but  had  been  tested  in  the  First  Punic  War.  Again, 
so  varying  was  the  fortune  of  battle,  so  doubtful  the  struggle,  that 
they  who  finally  conquered  were  once  the  nearer  to  ruin.  And 
they  fought,  too,  with  a  hate  well-nigh  greater  than  their  strength. 
Rome  was  indignant  that  the  conquered  should  presume  to  attack 
the  conqueror,  Carthage  that  the  vanquished  had,  she  thought, 
been  subjected  to  an  arrogant  and  rapacious  rule. 

We  must  go  on,  and  repeat  the  familiar  story  that  immedi- 
ately follows,  of  the  oath  taken  by  young  Hannibal  of  enmity 
to  Borne.  Readers  will  like  to  learn  that  Livy  is  a  source  and 


148  CLASSIC  LATIN  COURSE  IN  ENGLISH. 

authority  for  this  picturesque  and  grim  legend  of  Carthagin- 
ian patriotism  : 

There  is  a  story,  too,  of  Hannibal  when,  at  nine  years  of  age,  he 
was  boyishly  coaxing  his  father  Ham-il'car  to  take  him  with  him 
to  Spain  (Hamilcar  had  just  finished  the  African  war,  and  was 
sacrificing  before  transporting  his  army  to  that  country),  how  the 
child  was  set  by  the  altar,  and  there,  with  his  hand  upon  the 
victim,  was  made  to  swear  that,  so  soon  as  he  could,  he  would  be 
the  enemy  of  the  Roman  people. 

Livy  gives  us  a  spirited  portrait  in  words  of  one  of  the 
most  remarkable  military  geniuses  the  world  has  ever  beheld. 
In  drawing  this  portrait,  he  goes  back  a  little  in  retrospect  of 
Hannibal's  years  of  youthful  service  under  Hasdrubal  after 
the  untimely  death  of  his  own  father,  Hamilcar : 

Hannibal  was  sent  to  Spain,  and  instantly  on  his  arrival  attracted 
the  admiration  of  the  whole  army.  Young  Hamilcar  was  restored 
to  them,  thought  the  veterans,  as  they  saw  in  him  the  same  ani- 
mated look  and  penetrating  eye,  the  same  expression,  the  same 
features.  Soon  he  made  them  feel  that  his  father's  memory  was 
but  a  trifling  aid  to  him  in  winning  their  esteem.  Never  had  man 
a  temper  that  adapted  itself  better  to  the  widely  diverse  duties  of 
obedience  and  command,  till  it  was  hard  to  decide  whether  he  was 
more  beloved  by  the  general  or  the  army.  There  was  no  one 
whom  Hasdrubal  preferred  to  put  in  command,  whenever  courage 
and  persistency  were  specially  needed,  no  officer  under  whom  the 
soldiers  were  more  confident  and  more  daring.  Bold  hi  the  ex- 
treme in  incurring  peril,  he  was  perfectly  cool  in  its  presence.  No 
toil  could  weary  his  body  or  conquer  his  spirit.  Heat  and  cold  he 
bore  with  equal  endurance ;  the  cravings  of  nature,  not  the  pleas- 
ure of  the  palate,  determined  the  measure  of  his  food  and  drink. 
His  waking  and  sleeping  hours  were  not  regulated  by  day  and 
night.  Such  time  as  business  left  him,  he  gave  to  repose ;  but  it 
was  not  on  a  soft  couch  or  in  stillness  that  he  sought  it.  Many  a 
man  often  saw  him  wrapped  in  his  military  cloak,  lying  on  the 
ground  amid  the  sentries  and  pickets.  His  dress  was  not  one  whit 
superior  to  that  of  his  comrades,  but  his  accoutrements  and  horses 
were  conspicuously  splendid.  Among  the  cavalry  or  the  infantry 
he  was  by  far  the  first  soldier ;  the  first  in  battle,  the  last  to  leave 
it  when  once  begun. 

These  great  virtues  in  the  man  were  equaled  by  monstrous  vices, 
inhuman  cruelty,  a  worse  than  Punic  perfidy.  Absolutely  false 


LIVY.  149 

and  irreligious,  he  had  no  fear  of  God,  no  regard  for  an  oath,  no 
scruples.  With  this  combination  of  virtues  and  vices,  he  served 
three  years  under  the  command  of  Hasdrubal,  omitting  nothing 
which  a  man  who  was  to  be  a  great  general  ought  to  do  or  to  see. 

Hannibal  had  attacked  Sa-gun/tum.  Saguntum  was  a 
Spanish  town  on  the  E'bro.  The  question  was  to  whom  it  be- 
longed. Hannibal  solved  the  question  by  laying  siege  to  it 
and  taking  it.  Rome,  disturbed  too  late,  sent  envoys  to 
Carthage.  The  Carthaginian  senate  must  disavow  the  pro- 
ceedings of  Hannibal,  or  accept  a  state  of  war  with  Borne. 
Parley  was  attempted  by  the  Carthaginians,  but  Quin'tus 
Fa'bi-us,  in  the  fashion  that  became  him  as  Roman,  did — 
what  Livy  thus  describes  : 

Upon  this  the  Roman  gathered  his  robe  into  a  fold,  and  said : 
"  Here  we  bring  you  peace  and  war ;  take  which  you  please." 
Instantly  on  the  word  rose  a  shout  as  fierce :  "  Give  us  which  you 
please."  The  Roman,  in  reply,  shook  out  the  fold,  and  spoke 
again:  "I  give  you  war."  The  answer  from  all  was:  "We 
accept  it,  and  in  the  spirit  with  which  we  accept  it,  will  we 
wage  it." 

Hannibal  was,  like  Napoleon,  a  child  of  destiny.  He  had  a 
dream  which  dominated  him — a  dream  darkly  prophetic  of  his 
future.  Livy  relates  it  with  a  "  so  the  story  goes,"  to  save  his 
own  credit,  at  the  same  time  that  he  saved  an  incident  dear  to 
his  romantic  taste  and  to  his  pictorial  style.  The  vision  came 
to  Hannibal  after  he  had  resolved  on  crossing  the  Alps  and 
descending  upon  Italy.  Here  is  Livy's  account : 

He  saw  in  a  dream,  so  the  story  goes,  a  youth  of  godlike  shape, 
who  said  that  he  had  been  sent  by  Jupiter  to  conduct  the  army 
of  Hannibal  into  Italy ;  that  he  was,  therefore,  to  follow  and 
nowhere  turn  his  eyes  away  from  him.  At  first  Hannibal  followed 
trembling,  neither  looking  around  nor  behind ;  after  awhile,  with 
the  natural  curiosity  of  the  human  mind,  as  he  thought  what  it 
could  be  on  which  he  was  forbidden  to  look  back,  he  could  not 
restrain  his  eyes ;  he  then  saw  behind  him  a  serpent  of  marvelous 
size  moving  onward  with  a  fearful  destruction  of  trees  and  bushes ; 
close  after  this  followed  a  storm-cloud  with  crashing  thunder. 
When  he  asked  what  was  the  monster  and  what  the  portent  meant, 


160  CLASSIC  LATIN  COURSE  IN  ENGLISH. 

he  was  told  it  was  "  the  devastation  of  Italy ;  let  him  go  straight  on 
and  ask  no  more  questions,  and  leave  the  fates  in  darkness." 

Pub/li-us  Cor-ne'li-us  Scipio,  on  the  part  of  the  Romans,  ad- 
vanced against  advancing  Hannibal.  Hannibal  was  now  just 
twenty-six  years  of  age. 

The  battle  that  impended  was  not  one  of  the  great  battles  of 
the  war  ;  but  when  it  finally  was  joined,  it  went  against  the 
Romans.  Scipio,  their  general,  was  wounded.  He  was  res- 
cued by  his  son.  That  son  was  the  great  Scipio — to  be  sur- 
named  Africanus,  in  honor  of  the  decisive  victory  that  he  will 
hereafter  win  over  Hannibal  and  the  Carthaginians. 

But  where,  it  may  be  asked,  did  this  hostile  encounter 
occur  ?  It  was  on  the  Italian  side  of  the  Alps.  Hannibal  had 
previously  performed  one  of  the  greatest  military  feats  on 
record,  by  crossing  the  Alps  with  his  army.  It  will  not  quite 
do  to  let  this  exploit  of  his  pass  in  silence.  We  however  limit 
ourselves  to  giving  a  single  feature  only  of  the  arduous  under- 
taking. The  Carthaginian  army  had  now  reached  the  "last 
and  sharpest  height"  of  their  difficulty.  Livy  says: 

At  last,  when  both  men  and  beasts  were  worn  out  with  fruitless 
exertion,  they  encamped  on  a  height,  in  a  spot  which  with  the 
utmost  difficulty  they  had  cleared ;  so  much  snow  had  to  be  dug 
out  and  removed.  The  soldiers  were  then  inarched  off  to  the  work 
of  making  a  road  through  the  rock,  as  there  only  was  a  passage 
possible.  Having  to  cut  into  the  stone,  they  heaped  up  a  huge  pile 
of  wood  from  the  great  trees  in  the  neighborhood,  which  they  had 
felled  and  lopped.  As  soon  as  there  was  strength  enough  in  the 
wind  to  create  a  blaze  they  lighted  the  pile,  and  melted  the  rocks, 
as  they  heated,  by  pouring  vinegar  on  them.  The  burning  stone 
was  cleft  open  with  iron  implements,  and  then  they  relieved 
the  steepness  of  the  slopes  by  gradual  winding  tracks,  so  that  even 
the  elephants  as  well  as  the  other  beasts  could  be  led  down.  Four 
days  were  spent  in  this  rocky  pass,  and  the  beasts  almost  perished 
•of  hunger,  as  the  heights  generally  are  quite  bare,  and  such  herb- 
age as  grows  is  buried  in  snow.  Amid  the  lower  slopes  were 
valleys,  sunny  hills,  too,  and  streams,  and  woods  beside  them,  and 
«pots  now  at  last  more  worthy  to  be  the  habitations  of  man.  Here 
they  sent  the  beasts  to  feed,  and  the  men,  worn  out  with  the  toil  of 


LIVY.  151 

road-making,  were  allowed  to  rest.  In  the  next  three  days  they 
reached  level  ground,  and  now  the  country  was  less  wild,  as  was 
also  the  character  of  the  inhabitants. 

Such  on  the  whole  was  the  march  which  brought  them  to  Italy, 
in  the  fifth  month,  according  to  some  authors,  after  leaving  New 
Carthage,  the  passage  of  the  Alps  having  occupied  fifteen  days. 

The  whole  description  in  Livy  is  powerful ;  but  it  lacks  the 
traits  that  would  naturally  mark  description  written  by  an 
eye-witness  and  sharer  of  the  scenes  &nd  experiences  described. 
It  is  conceived  from  the  imagination  alone,  working  with  a 
few  points  given,  rather  than  from  the  memory  and  imagina- 
tion working  together,  with  all  the  material  at  command.  It 
contrasts  in  essential  character  with  the  lifelike  delineations 
of  Xenophon,  for  example,  in  the  Anabasis,  who  saw  all  and 
was  himself  a  great  part.  Livy's  description  is  valuable,  more 
perhaps  as  rhetoric  than  as  history. 

Military  operations,  attended  with  various  fortune,  more 
often  favorable  to  the  Carthaginians,  followed  that  first  battle 
in  which  the  Romans  were  beaten.  The  great  battle,  or  rather 
the  great  Roman  disaster,  of  Thras-y-me/nus,  was  near.  This 
celebrated  action  we  must  presently  let  Livy  describe  at  full. 

It  is  a  marked  feature  of  Roman  history,  as  Roman  history 
is  written  by  Livy  and  by  Tacitus,  that  chapters  come  in  at 
intervals  throughout  their  works,  recording  omens  that 
occurred.  The  Romans  were  a  profoundly  superstitious 
people.  They  lived  under  as  it  were  a  shadow  of  the  sinister 
supernatural  all  the  time.  We  shall  not  be  able  to  make  a  full 
due  impression  of  the  effect  which  these  recurring  lists  of 
omens  observed,  produce  on  the  mind  of  the  reader  of  the 
original  works.  To  do  so  would  require  the  reproduction  of  a 
considerable  number  of  these  formidable  and  gloomy  cata- 
logues ;  and  that  would  occupy  too  much  of  our  space.  But  it 
is  the  quantity,  not  less  than  the  quality,  of  such  material, 
together  with  what  seems  the  periodicity  of  its  return  to  view, 
\hat  oppresses  the  imagination  of  one  occupied  in  reading  the 


152  CLASSIC  LATIN  COURSE  IN  ENGLISH. 

full  text  of  the  native  historians  of  Rome.  We  give  at  this 
point  a  single  catalogue  of  omens  which  must  stand  as 
representative  of  its  kind.  The  following  passage  occurs  near 
the  opening  of  the  second  book  of  that  third  decade  of  Livy, 
with  which  we  are  now  concerned.  The  disaster  of  Thrasy- 
menus  (Tras-u-men/nus  is  the  more  recent  orthography) 
impended  for  the  Romans.  The  Romans  meantime  were 
oppressed  with  the  gloomiest  fears : 

These  fears  were  increased  by  the  tidings  of  marvels  which  now 
came  from  many  places  at  once.  Some  soldiers'  spears  in  Sicily 
had  burst  into  a  blaze ;  so  too  in  Sardinia  had  the  staff  which  an 
officer  held  in  his  hand  as  he  went  his  rounds  inspecting  the 
sentries  on  the  wall ;  two  shields  had  sweated  blood ;  certain 
soldiers  had  beeu  struck  by  lightning ;  there  had  been  seen  an 
eclipse  of  the  sun ;  at  Prse-nes'te  blazing  stones  had  fallen  from  the 
sky ;  at  Arpi  shields  had  been  seen  in  the  sky,  and  the  sun  had 
seemed  to  fight  with  the  moon ;  at  Capua  two  moons  had  risen 
in  the  daytime ;  the  stream  at  Cse're  had  flowed  half  blood  ;  gouts 
of  blood  had  been  seen  on  the  water  that  dripped  from  the  spring  of 
Hercules ;  reapers  in  the  field  near  Antium  had  seen  the  ears  fall 
all  bloody  into  the  basket ;  at  Fa-le'ri-i  the  sky  had  seemed  parted 
by  a  huge  cleft,  while  an  overpowering  light  shone  forth  from 
the  opening ;  certain  oracle  tablets  had  spontaneously  shrunk,  and 
on  one  that  fell  out  were  the  words,  "  MARS  SHAKES  HIS  SPEAR"  ; 
at  the  same  time  at  Rome,  sweat  came  out  on  the  statue  of  Mars 
that  stands  in  the  Appian  Road  by  the  images  of  the  wolves ;  at 
Cap'u-a  the  sky  had  seemed  to  be  on  fire,  and  a  moon  to  fall  in 
the  midst  of  a  shower.  Then  men  began  to  believe  less  solemn 
marvels.  Some  persons  had  had  goats  become  sheep  ;  a  hen 
had  changed  into  a  cock,  and  a  cock  into  a  hen.  The  consul  gave 
the  whole  story  at  length,  as  it  had  been  told  him,  at  the  same  time 
introducing  into  the  senate  those  who  vouched  for  it,  and  asked  the 
opinion  of  the  house  on  the  religious  aspect  of  the  matter. 

Readers  will  wish  to  see  what  the  practical  Romans  con- 
sidered ought  to  be  done  under  such  gruesome  circum- 
stances: 

It  was  resolved  that  such  expiation  should  be  made  as  these 
portents  demanded,  with  victims,  some  of  which  should  be  full- 
grown,  some  sucklings ,  that  public  prayers  should  be  offered 
during  three  days  at  every  shrine.  Everything  else  was  to  be  done 


LIVY.  153 

after  the  College  of  the  Ten  had  inspected  the  holy  books,  in  such 
fashion  as  they  might  declare  from  the  prophecies  to  be  pleasing  to 
the  gods.  They  ordered  that  the  first  offering,  of  gold  weighing 
fifty  pounds,  should  be  made  to  Jupiter,  that  to  Juno  and  Mi- 
ner'va  offerings  of  silver  should  be  presented ;  that  full-grown 
victims  should  be  sacrificed  to  Juno  the  Queen  on  the  Av'en-tine 
Hill,  and  to  Juno  the  Preserver  at  La-nu'vi-um ;  that  the  matrons, 
collecting  a  sum  of  money,  as  much  as  it  might  be  convenient 
for  each  to  contribute,  should  carry  it  as  an  offering  to  Juno  the 
Queen  on  the  Aventine ;  that  a  religious  feast  should  be  held,  and 
that  even  the  very  freedwomen  should  raise  contributions  accord- 
ing to  their  means  for  a  gift  to  the  goddess  Feronia.  After  all  this 
the  College  of  the  Ten  sacrificed  full-grown  victims  in  the  market 
place  at  Ardea.  Last  of  all,  as  late  as  December,  a  sacrifice  was 
made  at  the  temple  of  Saturn  in  Rome ;  a  religious  feast  was 
ordered  (furnished  by  the  senators)  and  a  public  banquet;  and 
a  festival  of  Saturn  to  last  a  day  and  a  night  proclaimed  throughout 
Rome.  This  day  the  people  were  enjoined  to  keep  and  observe  as 
a  holiday  forever. 

All  did  not  avail.     The  overhanging  ruin  fell. 

Hannibal  struggled  forward  in  invasion  against  adverse 
circumstances  that  might  well  have  cowed  a  less  resolute 
spirit.  Fla-min/i-us,  the  Roman  consul  in  command,  will 
presently  afford  the  Carthaginian  his  coveted  opportunity. 
Flaminius  was  a  headstrong  and  fiery  soul  that  could  brook 
neither  opposition  nor  delay.  Defying  every  expostulation 
dissuasive  from  the  plan,  he  resolved  on  giving  Hannibal 
battle.  His  soldiers  believed  in  Flaminius  but  too  well.  Their 
trust  was  their  ruin  and  his  own. 

Fiercely  from  the  council  of  war  unanimous  against  him,  the 
foolhardy  Flaminius  burst  forth  with  orders  to  pluck  up  the 
standard  and  advance  upon  Hannibal.  The  sequel  shall  be 
told  in  Livy's  own  words : 

Flaminius  himself  leapt  upon  his  horse,  when  lo !  in  a  moment 
the  horse  fell,  throwing  the  consul  over  his  head.  Amid  the  terror 
of  all  who  stood  near — for  this  was  an  ill  omen  for  the  beginning  of 
a  campaign— came  a  message  to  say  that  the  standard  could  not 
be  wrenched  from  the  ground,  though  the  standard-bearer  had  ex- 
erted all  his  strength.  Turning  to  the  messenger,  the  consul  said, 


154  CLASSIC  LATIN  COURSE  IN  ENGLISH. 

"  Perhaps  you  bring  me  a  dispatch  from  the  senate,  forbidding  me 
to  fight.  Go  tell  them  to  dig  the  standard  out,  if  their  hands  are  so 
numb  with  fear  that  they  cannot  wrench  it  up."  The  army  then 
began  its  march.  The  superior  officers,  not  to  speak  of  their 
having  dissented  from  the  plan,  were  alarmed  by  these  two 
portents ;  the  soldiers  generally  were  delighted  with  their  head- 
strong chief.  Full  of  confidence,  they  thought  little  on  what  their 
confidence  was  founded. 

Hannibal  devastated,  with  all  the  horrors  of  war,  the  country  be- 
tween Cor-to'na  and  Lake  Trasumennus,  seeking  to  infuriate  the 
Romans  into  avenging  the  sufferings  of  their  allies.  They  had 
now  reached  a  spot  made  for  an  ambuscade,  where  the  lake  comes 
up  close  under  the  hills  of  Cortona.  Between  them  is  nothing  but 
a  very  narrow  road,  for  which  room  seems  to  have  been  purposely 
left.  Farther  on  is  some  comparatively  broad,  level  ground. 
From  this  rise  the  hills,  and  here  in  the  open  plain  Hannibal 
pitched  a  camp  for  himself  and  his  African  and  Spanish  troops 
only ;  his  slingers  and  other  light-armed  troops  he  marched  to  the 
rear  of  the  hills ;  his  cavalry  he  stationed  at  the  mouth  of  the  de- 
file, behind  some  rising  ground  which  conveniently  sheltered 
them.  When  the  Romans  had  once  entered  the  pass  and  the 
cavalry  had  barred  the  way,  all  would  be  hemmed  in  by  the 
lake  and  the  hills. 

Flaminius  had  reached  the  lake  at  sunset  the  day  before.  On  the 
morrow,  without  reconnoitering  and  while  the  light  was  still 
uncertain,  he  traversed  the  narrow  pass.  As  his  army  began  to 
deploy  into  the  widening  plain,  he  could  see  only  that  part  of  the 
enemy's  force  which  was  in  front  of  him ;  he  knew  nothing  of  the 
ambuscade  in  his  rear  and  above  his  head.  The  Carthaginian  saw 
his  wish  accomplished.  He  had  his  enemy  shut  in  by  the  lake  and 
the  hills  and  surrounded  by  his  own  troops.  He  gave  the  signal 
for  a  general  charge,  and  the  attacking  columns  flung  themselves 
on  the  nearest  points.  To  the  Romans  the  attack  was  all  the  more 
sudden  and  unexpected  because  the  mist  from  the  lake  lay  thicker 
on  the  plains  than  on  the  heights,  while  the  hostile  columns  on  the 
various  hills  had  been  quite  visible  to  each  other,  and  had, 
therefore,  advanced  in  concert.  As  for  the  Romans,  with  the  shout 
of  battle  rising  all  around  them,  before  they  could  see  plainly,  they 
found  themselves  surrounded,  and  fighting  begun  in  their  front 
and  their  flanks  before  they  could  form  in  order,  get  ready  their 
arms,  or  draw  their  swords. 

Amidst  universal  panic  the  consul  showed  all  the  courage  that 
could  be  expected  in  circumstances  so  alarming.  The  broken 
ranks,  in  which  every  one  was  turning  to  catch  the  discordant 
shouts,  he  reformed  as  well  as  time  and  place  permitted,  and,  as 


LIVY.  155 

far  as  his  presence  or  his  voice  could  reach,  bade  his  men  stand 
their  ground  and  fight.  "It  is  not  by  prayers,"  he  cried,  "or 
entreaties  to  the  gods,  but  by  strength  and  courage  that  you 
must  win  your  way  out.  The  sword  cuts  a  path  through  the  midst 
of  the  battle ;  and  the  less  fear,  there  for  the  most  part,  the  less 
danger."  But  such  was  the  uproar  and  confusion,  neither  en- 
couragements nor  commands  could  be  heard ;  so  far  were  the  men 
from  knowing  their  standards,  their  ranks,  or  their  places,  that 
they  had  scarcely  presence  of  mind  to  snatch  up  their  arms  and 
address  them  to  the  fight,  and  some  found  them  an  overwhelming 
burden  rather  than  a  protection.  So  dense  too  was  the  mist  that 
the  ear  was  of  more  service  than  the  eye.  The  groans  of  the 
wounded,  the  sound  of  blows  on  body  or  armor,  the  mingled 
shouts  of  triumph  or  panic,  made  them  turn  this  way  and  that 
an  eager  gaze.  Some  would  rush  in  their  flight  on  a  dense  knot  of 
combatants  and  become  entangled  in  the  mass ;  others,  returning 
to  the  battle,  would  be  carried  away  by  the  crowd  of  fugitives. 
But  after  awhile,  when  charges  had  been  vainly  tried  in  every 
direction,  when  it  was  seen  that  the  hills  and  the  lake  shut  them  in 
on  either  side,  and  the  hostile  lines  in  front  and  rear,  when  it  was 
manifest  that  the  only  hope  of  safety  lay  in  their  own  right  hands 
and  swords,  then  every  man  began  to  look  to  himself  for  guidance 
and  for  encouragement,  and  there  began  afresh  what  was  indeed  a 
new  battle.  No  battle  was  it  with  its  three  ranks  of  combatants, 
its  vanguard  before  the  standards,  and  its  second  line  fighting 
behind  them,  with  every  soldier  in  his  own  legion,  cohort,  or  com- 
pany: chance  massed  them  together,  and  each  man's  impulse 
assigned  him  his  post,  whether  in  the  van  or  rear.  So  fierce  was 
their  excitement,  so  intent  were  they  on  the  battle,  that  not  one  of 
the  combatants  felt  the  earthquake  which  laid  whole  quarters  of 
many  Italian  cities  in  ruins,  changed  the  channels  of  rapid  streams, 
drove  the  sea  far  up  into  rivers,  and  brought  down  enormous  land- 
slips from  the  hills. 

For  nearly  three  hours  they  fought  fiercely  everywhere,  but 
with  especial  rage  and  fury  round  the  consul.  It  was  to  him 
that  the  flower  of  the  army  attached  themselves.  He,  wherever  he 
found  his  troops  pressed  hard  or  distressed,  was  indefatigable  in 
giving  help ;  conspicuous  in  his  splendid  arms,  the  enemy  assailed 
and  his  fellow-Romans  defended  him  with  all  their  might.  At 
last  an  Insubrian  trooper  (his  name  was  Ducarius),  recognizing 
him  also  by  his  face,  cried  to  his  comrades,  "  See !  this  is  the  man 
who  slaughtered  our  legions,  and  laid  waste  our  fields  and  our 
city  ;  I  will  offer  him  as  a  sacrifice  to  the  shades  of  my  countrymen 
whom  he  so  foully  slew."  Putting  spurs  to  his  horse,  he  charged 
through  the  thickest  of  the  enemy,  struck  down  the  armor-bearer 


156  CLASSIC  LATIN  COURSE   IN  ENGLISH. 

who  threw  himself  in  the  way  of  his  furious  advance,  and  ran  the 
consul  through  with  his  lance.  When  he  would  have  stripped  the 
body,  some  veterans  thrust  their  shields  between  and  hindered 
him. 

Then  began  the  flight  of  a  great  part  of  the  army.  And  now 
neither  lake  nor  mountain  checked  their  rush  of  panic ;  by  every 
defile  and  height  they  sought  blindly  to  escape,  and  arms  and  men 
were  heaped  upon  each  other.  Many  finding  no  possibility  of 
flight,  waded  into  the  shallows  at  the  edge  of  the  lake,  advanced 
until  they  had  only  head  and  shoulders  above  the  water,  and  at 
last  drowned  themselves.  Some  in  the  frenzy  of  panic  endeavored 
to  escape  by  swimming ;  but  the  endeavor  was  endless  and  hope- 
less, and  they  either  sunk  in  the  depths  when  their  courage  failed 
them,  or  they  wearied  themselves  in  vain  till  they  could  hardly 
struggle  back  to  the  shallows,  where  they  were  slaughtered  in 
crowds  by  the  enemy's  cavalry  which  had  now  entered  the  water. 
Nearly  six  thousand  of  the  vanguard  made  a  determined  rush 
through  the  enemy,  and  got  clear  out  of  the  defile,  knowing 
nothing  of  what  was  happening  behind  them.  Halting  on  some 
high  ground,  they  could  only  hear  the  shouts  of  men  and  clashing 
of  arms,  but  could  not  learn  or  see  for  the  mist  how  the  day  was 
going.  It  was  when  the  battle  was  decided  that  the  increasing 
heat  of  the  sun  scattered  the  mist  and  cleared  the  sky.  The 
bright  light  that  now  rested  on  hill  and  plain  showed  a  ruinous  de- 
feat and  a  Roman  army  shamefully  routed.  Fearing  that  they 
might  be  seen  in  the  distance  and  that  the  cavalry  might  be  sent 
against  them,  they  took  up  their  standards  and  hurried  away  with 
all  the  speed  they  could.  The  next  day,  finding  their  situation 
generally  desperate,  and  starvation  also  imminent,  they  capitu- 
lated to  Hannibal,  who  had  overtaken  them  with  the  whole  of  his 
cavalry,  and  who  pledged  his  word  that  if  they  would  surrender 
their  arms,  they  should  go  free,  each  man  having  a  single  garment. 
The  promise  was  kept  with  Punic  faith  by  Hannibal,  who  put  them 
all  in  chains. 

Such  was  the  famous  fight  at  Trasumennus,  memorable  as  few 
other  disasters  of  the  Roman  people  have  been.  Fifteen  thousand 
men  fell  in  the  battle ;  ten  thousand,  flying  in  all  directions  over 
Etruria,  made  by  different  roads  for  Rome.  Of  the  enemy  two 
thousand  five  hundred  fell  in  the  battle.  Many  died  afterwards  of 
their  wounds.  Other  authors  speak  of  a  loss  on  both  sides  many 
times  greater.  I  am  myself  averse  to  the  idle  exaggeration  to 
which  writers  are  so  commonly  inclined,  and  I  have  here  followed, 
as  my  best  authority,  Fabius,  who  was  actually  contemporary  with 
the  war.  Hannibal  released  without  ransom  all  the  prisoners  who 
claimed  Latin  citizenship ;  the  Romans  he  imprisoned.  He  had 


LIVY.  157 

the  corpses  of  his  own  men  separated  from  the  vast  heaps  of  dead, 
and  buried.  Careful  search  was  also  made  for  the  body  of  Fla- 
minius,  to  which  he  wished  to  pay  due  honor,  but  it  could  not  be 
found. 

At  Rome  the  first  tidings  of  this  disaster  brought  a  terror- 
stricken  and  tumultuous  crowd  into  the  forum.  The  matrons 
wandered  through  the  streets  and  asked  all  whom  they  met  what 
was  this  disaster  of  which  news  had  just  arrived,  and  how  the 
army  had  fared.  A  crowd,  thick  as  a  thronged  assembly,  with  eyes 
intent  upon  the  senate-house,  called  aloud  for  the  magistrates,  till  at 
last,  not  long  before  sunset,  the  prsetor,  Mar'cus  Pom-po'ni-us, 
said,  "We  have  been  beaten  in  a  great  battle."  Nothing  more 
definite  than  this  was  said  by  him ;  but  each  man  had  reports  with- 
out end  to  tell  his  neighbor,  and  the  news  which  they  carried  back 
to  their  homes  was  that  the  consul  had  perished  with  a  great  part 
of  his  troops,  that  the  few  who  had  survived  were  either  dispersed 
throughout  Etruria,  or  taken  prisoners  by  the  enemy. 

The  mischances  of  the  beaten  army  were  not  more  numerous 
than  the  anxieties  which  distracted  the  minds  of  those  whose 
relatives  had  served  under  Flaminius.  All  were  utterly  ignorant 
how  this  or  that  kinsman  had  fared ;  no  one  even  quite  knew  what 
to  hope  or  to  fear.  On  the  morrow,  and  for  some  days  after,  there 
stood  at  the  gates  a  crowd  in  which  the  women  even  outnumbered 
the  men,  waiting  to  see  their  relatives  or  hear  some  tidings  about 
them.  They  thronged  round  all  whom  they  met,  with  incessant 
questions,  and  could  not  tear  themselves  away,  least  of  all  leave 
any  acquaintance,  till  they  had  heard  the  whole  story  to  an  end. 
Different  indeed  were  their  looks  as  they  turned  away  from  the 
tale  which  had  filled  them  either  with  joy  or  grief,  and  friends 
crowded  round  to  congratulate  or  console  them  as  they  returned  to 
their  homes.  The  women  were  most  conspicuous  for  their  trans- 
ports and  their  grief.  Within  one  of  the  very  gates,  a  woman  un- 
expectedly meeting  a  son  who  had  escaped,  died,  it  is  said,  in  his 
embrace ;  another  who  had  had  false  tidings  of  her  son's  death  and 
sat  sorrowing  at  home,  expired  from  excessive  joy  when  she 
caught  sight  of  him  entering  the  house.  The  praators  for  some 
days  kept  the  senate  in  constant  session  from  sunrise  to  sunset,  de- 
liberating who  was  to  lead  an  army,  and  what  army  was  to  be  led 
against  the  victorious  foe. 

Other  reverses  to  Roman  arms  followed  close  upon  the  over- 
throw of  Trasumennus.  A  dictator  was  created,  the  dictator 
being  Fabius  Maximus.  This  is  that  memorable  master  of 
delay,  destined  at  last  to  save  Rome  by  a  long  course  of 


158  CLASSIC  LATIN  COURSE  IN  ENGLISH. 

strongly  doing  nothing.  He  stood  simply  a  rock  on  which 
Hannibal  dashed  himself  to  pieces — rather  he  was  a  yielding 
mountain  of  sand  on  which  the  sea  sought  in  vain  to  deliver 
a  shock. 

Marcus  Min-u'ci-us  Rufus  was  joined  to  Fabius,  as  master 
of  horse.  It  was  harnessing  together  in  one  team  a  restive 
and  a  restless  steed — a  steed  that  would  not  stir,  and  a  steed 
that  would  not  stand  still.  The  Romans,  with  all  their  prac- 
tical genius  for  war  and  statesmanship,  made,  from  the  founda- 
tion of  the  Republic  down  to  the  foundation  of  the  Empire, 
the  singular,  the  almost  inexplicable,  blunder — such  it  seems 
to  us  now — of  dividing  administrative  responsibility  between 
two  men,  placed  together  at  the  head  of  affairs. 

The  policy,  and  the  effects  of  the  policy,  adopted  by  Fabius 
Cunctator  (Fabius  Delayer),  are  thus  sketched  by  Livy : 

Always  reconnoitering  his  ground  most  carefully,  lie  advanced 
against  the  enemy,  resolved  nowhere  to  risk  anything  more  than 
necessity  might  compel.  The  first  day  that  he  pitched  his  camp  in 
sight  of  the  enemy  (the  place  was  not  far  from  Arpi),  Hannibal, 
without  a  moment's  delay,  led  out  his  men  and  offered  battle. 
When  he  saw  that  all  was  quiet  in  the  Roman  army,  and  that 
there  was  no  sign  of  any  stir  in  their  camp,  he  returned  to  his 
quarters,  loudly  exclaiming  that  at  last  the  martial  spirit  of  Rome 
was  broken — they  had  made  open  confession  of  defeat  and  yielded 
the  palm  of  glory  and  valor.  But  in  his  heart  was  a  secret  fear 
that  he  had  now  to  deal  with  a  general  very  different  from  Flamin- 
ius  or  Sempronius,  and  that,  taught  by  disasters,  the  Romans  had 
at  last  found  a  general  equal  to  himself.  He  felt  at  once  afraid  of 
the  wariness  of  the  new  dictator ;  of  his  firmness  he  had  not  yet 
made  trial,  and  so  began  to  harass  and  provoke  him  by  repeatedly 
moving  his  camp  and  wasting  under  his  eyes  the  territory  of  the 
allies.  At  one  time  he  would  make  a  rapid  march  and  disappear ; 
at  another  he  would  make  a  sudden  halt,  concealed  in  some  wind- 
ing road,  where  he  hoped  that  he  might  catch  his  antagonist  de- 
scending to  the  plain.  Fabius  continued  to  move  his  forces  along 
high  ground,  preserving  a  moderate  distance  from  the  enemy, 
neither  letting  him  out  of  his  sight  nor  encountering  him.  He 
kept  his  soldiers  within  their  camp,  unless  they  were  required  for 
some  necessary  service.  When  they  went  in  quest  of  forage  or 
wood,  it  was  not  in  small  parties  or  at  random.  Pickets  of  cavalry 


159 

and  light  troops  were  told  off  and  kept  in  readiness  to  meet  sudden 
alarms,  a  constant  protection  to  his  own  troops,  a  constant  terror  to 
the  vagrant  marauders  of  the  enemy.  He  refused  to  stake  his  all 
on  the  hazard  of  a  general  engagement,  but  slight  encounters,  of 
little  importance  with  a  refuge  so  near,  could  be  safely  ventured 
on;  and  a  soldiery  demoralized  by  former  disasters  were  thus 
habituated  to  think  more  hopefully  of  their  own  courage  and  good 
luck. 

The  relation  in  which  Rufus  placed  himself  to  Fabius  is  in- 
dicated by  Livy  in  the  following  sentences  : 

But  these  sober  counsels  found  an  adversary  not  only  in  Hannibal 
but  quite  as  much  in  his  own  master  of  the  horse,  who,  headstrong 
and  rash  in  counsel  and  intemperate  in  speech,  was  kept  from 
ruining  his  country  only  by  the  want  of  power.  First  to  a  few 
listeners,  then  openly  before  the  ranks  of  the  army,  he  stigmatized 
his  commander  as  more  indolent  than  deliberate,  more  cowardly 
than  cautious,  fastening  on  him  failings  which  were  akin  to  his 
real  virtues,  and  seeking  to  exalt  himself  by  lowering  his  chief— a 
vile  art,  which  has  often  thriven  by  a  too  successful  practice. 

Hannibal  spread  consternation  among  the  Italian  allies  of 
Borne,  but  they  stood  fast  in  their  loyalty.  Their  steadfast- 
ness inspires  Livy  to  make  the  following  patriotically  self- 
complacent  remark : 

The  truth  was  that  they  were  under  a  righteous  and  moderate 
rule,  and  they  yielded— and  this  is  the  only  true  bond  of  loyalty — 
a  willing  obedience  to  their  betters. 

Fabius  had  anything  but  a  tranquil  time  of  it  in  keeping 
resolutely  quiet.  Rufus  was  constantly  a  thorn  in  the  side  of 
his  impassible  commander.  Livy  invents  for  this  man — your 
ideal  demagogue  he  was,  according  to  Livy — some  very 
spirited  harangues  in  character,  from  one  of  which  we  must 
have  a  representative  sentence  or  two.  The  Roman  army 
sitting  still,  while  under  their  very  eyes  fire  and  sword  in 
Carthaginian  hands  were  wasting  Roman  allies,  Rufus  broke 
out: 

"  Have  we  come  hither  to  see,  as  though  it  were  some  delightful 
spectacle,  our  allies  wasted  by  fire  and  sword  ?  ...  It  is  folly 
to  think  that  the  war  can  be  finished  by  sitting  still  and  praying. 


160  CLASSIC  LATIN  COURSE  IN  ENGLISH. 

You  must  take  your  arms ;  you  must  go  down  to  the  plain ;  you 
must  meet  the  enemy  man  to  man.  It  is  by  boldness  and  action 
that  the  power  of  Rome  has  grown,  not  by  these  counsels  of  indo- 
lence, which  only  cowards  call  caution." 

The  effect  of  seditious  utterances  like  these  from  Rufus  was 
vicious,  but  it  served  only  to  set  the  firmness  of  Fabius  in 
stronger  light.  Livy  says  : 

Fabius  had  to  be  on  his  guard  against  his  own  men  just  as  much 
as  against  the  enemy,  and  made  them  feel  that  they  could  not  con- 
quer his  resolution.  Though  he  knew  well  that  his  policy  of  delay 
was  odious,  not  only  in  his  own  camp,  but  also  at  Rome,  yet  he 
steadfastly  adhered  to  the  same  plan  of  action,  and  so  let  the 
summer  wear  away. 

Hannibal  was  a  famous  master  of  stratagem.  Here  is  a 
specimen  of  his  ready  resource  in  that  kind.  The  expedient 
described  was  adopted  by  Hannibal  to  extricate  himself  from 
a  desperate  situation  in  which  he  became  involved,  a  situation 
much  resembling  the  situation  in  which  he  had  himself  pre- 
viously involved  the  Romans.  Now  Livy  : 

The  deception  was  thus  arranged. — Firewood  was  collected  from 
all  the  country  round,  and  bundles  of  twigs  and  dry  fagots  were 
fastened  to  the  horns  of  oxen,  of  which  he  had  many,  from  the 
plundered  rural  districts,  both  broken  and  unbroken  to  the  plow. 
Upward  of  two  thousand  oxen  were  thus  treated,  and  Hasdrubal 
was  intrusted  with  the  business  of  driving  this  herd,  with  their 
horns  alight,  on  to  the  hills,  more  particularly,  as  he  best  could,  to 
those  above  the  passes  occupied  by  the  enemy. 

In  the  dusk  of  evening,  he  silently  struck  his  camp ;  the  oxen 
were  driven  a  little  in  front  of  the  standards.  When  they  reached 
the  foot  of  the  mountain,  where  the  roads  narrowed,  the  signal 
was  immediately  given  to  hurry  the  herd  with  their  horns  alight 
up  the  slope  of  the  hills.  They  rushed  on,  goaded  into  madness 
by  the  terror  of  the  flames  which  flashed  from  their  heads,  and  by 
the  heat  which  soon  reached  the  flesh  at  the  root  of  their  horns. 
At  this  sudden  rush  all  the  thickets  seemed  to  be  in  a  blaze,  and 
the  very  woods  and  mountains  to  have  been  fired ;  and  when  the 
beasts  vainly  shook  their  heads,  it  seemed  as  if  men  were  running 
about  in  every  direction.  The  troops  posted  in  the  pass,  seeing 
fires  on  the  hill-tops  and  above  them,  fancied  that  they  had  been 
surrounded,  and  left  their  position.  They  made  for  the  loftiest 
heights  as  being  their  safest  route,  for  it  was  there  that  the  fewest 


LJVY.  161 

flashes  of  light  were  visible ;  but  even  there  they  fell  in  with  some 
of  the  oxen  which  had  strayed  from  their  herd.  When  they  saw 
them  at  a  distance,  they  stood  thunderstruck  at  what  seemed  to  be 
the  miracle  of  oxen  breathing  fire.  As  soon  as  it  was  seen  to  be 
nothing  but  a  human  contrivance,  they  suspected  some  deep 
stratagem  and  fled  in  wilder  confusion  than  ever.  They  also 
fell  in  with  some  of  the  enemy's  light-armed  troops,  but  both  sides 
were  equally  afraid  in  the  darkness  to  attack,  and  so  they  re- 
mained until  dawn.  Meanwhile  Hannibal  had  led  his  whole  army 
through  the  pass,  cutting  off,  as  he  went,  some  of  his  opponents, 
and  pitched  his  camp  in  the  territory  of  Allifae. 

Fabius  did  not  conduct  his  command  in  a  manner  to  suit 
the  wishes  of  Hannibal.  In  fact,  Fabius  did  not  suit  any- 
body's wishes  in  his  manner  of  carrying  on  the  war.  His  own 
soldiers  chafed,  and  his  countrymen  at  home  were  indignant 
and  restless.  Hannibal  artfully  contrived  to  exasperate  the 
prevalent  feeling  against  Fabius  still  more.  What  the  Car- 
thaginian wanted  was  a  foe  that  would  fight.  He  hoped  by 
making  Fabius  unpopular  at  Rome  to  have  that  general  ousted 
from  his  command.  The  chance  then  was  that  the  senate 
would  send  some  general  against  him  that  he  could  entice 
into  battle.  The  following  was  the  deep  trick  that  Hannibal 
played.  Livy : 

Deserters  had  pointed  out  to  him  the  dictator's  estate,  and  he  had 
given  orders  that,  while  everything  round  it  was  leveled  to  the 
ground,  it  should  be  kept  safe  from  fire  and  sword  and  all  hostile 
violence,  hoping  that  this  forbearance  might  be  thought  the  con- 
sideration for  some  secret  agreement. 

But  the  virtue  of  Fabius  was  more  than  a  match  for  the 
cunning  of  Hannibal.  That  very  estate  of  the  Roman,  so 
insidiously  spared  by  his  crafty  antagonist,  became,  without 
design  or  consciousness  perhaps  on  Fabius' s  part,  the  means  of 
his  own  complete  vindication.  There  had  been  an  exchange 
of  prisoners  between  the  two  armies.  One  stipulation  was 
that  whichever  party  received  back  the  greater  number  of 
men,  should  pay  money  to  the  other,  at  the  rate  of  two 
pounds  and  a  half  of  silver  for  every  head  in  excess.  Hanni- 


162  CLASSIC  LATIN  COURSE  IN  ENGLISH. 

bal  brought  Fabius  in  debt  for  the  ransom  of  two  hundred 
and  forty-seven  prisoners.  The  senate,  taking  offense,  be- 
cause not  previously  consulted,  were  slow  to  hand  over  the 
money.  Fabius  thereupon,  through  his  son,  sold  the  estate 
that  Hannibal  had  spared  and,  thus  enabled  to  do  so,  dis- 
charged the  public  obligation  out  of  his  own  private  fortune. 
But  the  Commons  of  Rome  added  to  the  burden  that 
Fabius  was  bearing  for  his  country.  A  bill  was  passed,  ad- 
vancing the  factious  master  of  horse  to  equality  in  command 
with  the  dictator  himself.  Livy  very  finely  describes  the 
splendid  serenity  of  conscious  power  and  of  conscious  patri- 
otism, with  which,  under  the  sting  of  this  indignity  inflicted 
by  his  countrymen  upon  him,  Fabius  pauselessly  pursued  his 
way  back  to  his  army  from  his  visit  to  Rome  : 

All  men,  whether  at  Rome  or  in  the  army,  whether  friends  or 
foes,  took  the  bill  as  an  intentional  insult  to  the  dictator.  Not  so 
the  dictator  himself.  In  the  same  dignified  spirit  in  which  he  had 
borne  the  charges  made  against  him  before  the  populace,  he  now 
bore  the  wrong  which  the  Commons  inflicted  in  their  rage.  The 
dispatch  from  the  senate  announcing  the  equalization  of  military 
authority  reached  him  on  his  way.  Confident  that  the  com- 
mander's skill  could  not  be  equalized  along  with  the  right  to 
command,  he  returned  to  the  army  with  a  soul  that  neither  his 
fellow-citizens  nor  the  enemy  could  subdue. 

If  Rufus  was  delighted,  not  less  delighted  was  Hannibal. 
The  Roman  army  was  divided,  and  two  separate  camps  were 
formed.  This  latter  idea  was  the  preference  of  Rufus.  Livy 
has  few  more  eloquent  passages  than  that  in  which  he  de- 
scribes the  result.  The  result  was  almost  too  striking  to  be 
true.  It  reads  more  like  poetry  than  like  history.  Here  it 
is  in  Livy's  incomparable  narrative  : 

Hannibal  was  now  doubly  delighted,  and  not  a  single  movement 
of  his  foe  escaped  him.  The  deserters  told  him  much,  and  he 
learnt  much  from  his  own  spies.  He  would  entrap  in  his  own 
fashion  the  frank  rashness  of  Minucius,  while  the  experienced 
Fabius  had  lost  half  of  his  strength.  There  was  some  rising 
ground  between  the  camp  of  Minucius  and  that  of  the  Cartha- 


LIVY.  163 

ginians,  and  it  was  clear  that  whoever  should  occupy  it,  would 
thereby  make  the  enemy's  position  less  favorable.  It  was  not 
so  much  Hannibal's  desire  to  gain  this  without  fighting,  though 
that  would  have  been  worth  the  attempt,  as  to  find  in  it  the 
occasion  of  a  battle  with  Minucius,  who  would,  he  was  quite  sure, 
sally  forth  to  oppose  him.  All  the  ground  between  them  seemed  at 
first  sight  useless  for  purposes  of  ambush.  Not  only  had  it  no 
vestige  of  wood  about  it,  but  it  was  without  even  a  covering  of 
brambles.  In  reality,  nature  made  it  to  conceal  an  ambush,  all  the 
more  because  no  hidden  danger  could  be  feared  in  so  bare  a  valley. 
In  its  windings  were  caverns,  some  of  them  large  enough  to  hold 
two  hundred  armed  men.  Into  these  hiding  places,  wherever 
there  was  one  which  could  be  conveniently  occupied,  he  intro- 
duced five  thousand  infantry  and  cavalry.  Still  in  so  exposed  a 
valley  the  stratagem  might  be  discovered  by  the  incautious  move- 
ment of  a  single  soldier,  or  by  the  gleam  of  arms,  and  he  therefore 
sent  a  few  troops  at  early  dawn  to  occupy  the  hill  mentioned 
before,  and  so  to  distract  the  attention  of  the  enemy.  To  see  them 
was  to  conceive  at  once  a  contempt  for  their  scanty  numbers. 
Every  man  begged  for  the  task  of  dislodging  the  enemy  and 
occupying  the  place.  Conspicuous  among  these  senseless  braggarts 
was  the  general  himself,  as  he  called  his  men  to  arms  and  assailed 
the  enemy  with  idle  threats.  First  he  sent  his  light  troops,  then 
his  cavalry  in  close  array ;  at  last  seeing  that  the  enemy  were 
receiving  re-enforcements,  he  advanced  with  his  legions  in  order  of 
battle. 

Hannibal,  too,  as  the  conflict  waxed  fiercer  and  his  troops 
were  hard  pressed,  sent  again  and  again  infantry  and  cavalry  to 
their  support,  till  his  line  of  battle  was  complete,  and  both  sides 
were  fighting  with  their  whole  strength.  First  of  all  the  Roman 
light-armed  troops,  attacking,  as  they  did,. from  below  an  elevation 
already  occupied,  were  repulsed  and  thrust  back,  carrying  panic 
with  them  into  the  cavalry  behind  and  flying  until  they  reached 
the  standards  of  the  legions.  It  was  the  infantry  that  alone  stood 
firm  amidst  the  route  and  seemed  likely,  if  once  they  had  had 
to  fight  a  regular  battle  in  face  of  the  enemy,  to  be  quite  a  match 
for  him.  The  successful  action  of  a  few  days  before  had  given 
them  abundance  of  courage ;  but  the  ambushed  troops  un- 
expectedly rose  upon  them,  charged  them  on  the  flank  and  in 
the  rear,  and  spread  such  confusion  and  panic  that  they  lost  all 
heart  for  fighting  and  all  hope  of  escape. 

Fabius  first  heard  the  cry  of  terror ;  then  saw  from  afar  the 
broken  lines.  "  It  is  true,"  he  cried,  "  disaster  has  overtaken  rash- 
ness, but  not  sooner  than  I  feared.  They  made  him  equal  to 
Fabius,  but  he  sees  that  Hannibal  is  his  superior  both  in  courage 


164  CLASSIC  LATIN  COTTBSE  IN  ENGLISH. 

and  in  good  fortune.  Another  time,  however,  will  do  for  angry 
reproof  and  censure ;  now  advance  the  standards  beyond  the 
rampart.  Let  us  wring  from  the  enemy  his  victory,  from  our 
countrymen  the  confession  of  error." 

Many  had  already  fallen  and  many  were  looking  for  the  chance 
to  fly,  when  the  army  of  Fabius,  as  suddenly  as  if  it  had  dropped 
from  heaven,  appeared  to  help  them.  Before  javelins  were  thrown 
or  swords  crossed  it  checked  the  Romans  in  their  headlong  flight, 
the  enemy  in  the  fierce  eagerness  of  their  attack.  Where  the 
ranks  had  been  broken  and  the  men  scattered  hither  and  thither, 
they  hurried  from  all  sides  to  the  unbroken  lines ;  larger  bodies 
had  retreated  together,  these  now  wheeled  round  to  face  the  enemy 
and  formed  square,  sometimes  slowly  retiring,  sometimes  stand- 
ing in  firm  and  close  array.  By  the  time  that  the  beaten  army  and 
the  unbroken  army  had  all  but  combined  into  a  single  force  and 
were  advancing  against  the  enemy,  Hannibal  gave  the  signal  for 
retreat,  thus  openly  confessing  that,  as  he  had  conquered  Minucius, 
so  he  had  himself  been  worsted  by  Fabius. 

Returning  to  the  camp  late  on  this  day  of  checkered  fortune, 
Minucius  assembled  his  troops.  "  Soldiers,"  he  said,  "  I  have 
often  heard  that  the  best  man  is  he  who  can  tell  us  himself  what  is 
the  right  thing;  that  next  comes  he  who  listens  to  good  advice; 
and  that  he  who  cannot  advise  himself  or  submit  to  another, 
has  the  meanest  capacity  of  all.  Since  the  best  blessing  of  heart 
and  understanding  has  been  denied  us,  let  us  hold  fast  that  next 
best  gift  which  is  between  the  two,  and,  while  we  learn  to  rule, 
make  up  our  minds  to  obey  the  wise.  Let  us  join  our  camp  to  the 
camp  of  Fabius.  When  we  have  carried  our  standards  to  his  head- 
quarters, and  I  have  given  him  the  title  of  parent,  so  well  deserved 
by  the  service  which  he  has  done  us,  and  by  his  high  position,  you, 
my  soldiers,  will  salute  as  the  authors  of  your  freedom  the  men 
whose  right  hands  and  swords  lately  saved  you.  So  this  day  will 
give  us,  if  nothing  else,  yet  at  least  the  credit  of  having  grateful 
hearts." 

The  signal  was  given,  and  proclamation  made  to  collect  the  camp 
equipage.  Then  they  started  and  marched  in  regular  array  to  the 
dictator's  camp,  much  to  his  wonder  and  that  of  those  who  stood 
round  him.  When  the  standards  were  set  up  before  the  hustings, 
the  master  of  the  horse  stepped  forward  and  called  Fabius  by  the 
name  of  "father,"  while  the  whole  array  saluted  as  "authors of 
their  freedom"  the  soldiers  as  they  stood  grouped  around  their 
commander.  "  Dictator,"  he  said,  "  I  have  put  thee  on  a  level  with 
my  parents  by  this  name,  and  it  is  all  that  speech  can  do ;  but  while 
I  owe  to  them  life  only,  to  thee  I  owe  the  safety  of  myself  and  of  all 
these.  Therefore  I  am  the  first  to  reject  and  repeal  that  decree 


LJVY.  165 

which  has  been  to  me  a  burden  rather  than  an  honor,  and  praying 
that  this  act  may  be  prospered  to  thee  and  me  and  to  these  thy 
armies,  the  preserver  and  the  preserved  alike,  I  put  myself  again 
under  thy  command  and  fortunes,  and  restore  to  thee  these  stand- 
ards and  legions.  Forgive  us,  I  pray,  and  allow  me  to  keep  my 
mastership  of  the  horse,  and  each  of  these  his  several  rank." 

There  was  a  general  clasping  of  hands ;  and  when  the  assembly 
was  dismissed,  the  soldiers  were  kindly  and  hospitably  invited  by 
strangers  as  well  as  friends.  Thus  a  day  which  but  a  few  hours 
before  had  been  full  of  sorrow  and  almost  of  unspeakable  disaster 
became  a  day  of  merriment.  In  Rome,  as  soon  as  the  news  of  this 
incident  arrived,  followed  and  confirmed  by  letters,  not  only  from 
the  generals  but  from  many  persons  in  either  army,  every  one 
joined  in  extolling  Maximus  to  the  skies.  Hannibal  and  the  Car- 
thaginians equally  admired  him.  They  felt  at  last  that  it  was  with 
Romans  and  in  Italy  that  they  were  fighting.  For  the  last  two 
years  they  had  so  despised  both  the  generals  and  the  soldiers  of 
Rome  that  they  could  scarcely  believe  themselves  to  be  fighting 
with  that  same  people  of  whom  they  had  heard  so  terrible  a  report 
from  their  fathers.  Hannibal,  too,  they  say,  exclaimed,  as  he  was 
returning  from  the  field,  "  At  last  the  cloud  which  has  been  dwell- 
ing so  long  upon  the  hills,  has  burst  upon  us  in  storm  and  rain." 

For  our  specimen  extracts  from  Livy  we  use  the  version 
made  in  partnership  by  Messrs.  Church  and  Brodribb,  re- 
spectively of  Oxford  and  Cambridge  Universities  in  England. 
This  is  a  version  worthy  to  be  compared  for  workmanship  with 
the  best  English  transcripts  in  existence  from  the  ancient 
classics,  Latin  or  Greek.  The  same  accomplished  translators 
have  given  us  Tacitus  also  in  a  style  equally  admirable. 

The  six  months'  dictatorship  of  Fabius  is  now  nearing  its 
close.  The  savior  of  his  country  hands  over  his  army  to  the 
consuls,  who  pursue  the  policy  of  the  dictator  for  the  rest  of 
that  campaign. 

Consuls  Paulus  and  Varro  were  yoked  together  like  Fabius 
andKufus.  Repetition  of  the  folly  thus  committed  will  be 
followed  by  repetition  of  the  punishment  to  Koine.  Cannse 
is  now  close  at  hand.  The  two  consuls  bicker,  but  Varro  the 
rash  has  support  instead  of  Paulus  the  prudent.  Now  for  a 
good  stretch  of  Livy  again  : 


168  CLASSIC  LATIN  COURSE  IN  ENGLISH. 

The  judgment  of  the  majority  prevailed,  and  the  army  moved 
out  to  make  Cannae,  for  so  destiny  would  have  it,  famous  forever 
for  a  great  Roman  defeat.  Hannibal  had  pitched  his  camp  near  that 
village,  so  as  not  to  face  the  wind  called  Vul-tur'nus,  which,  blow- 
ing across  plains  parched  with  drought,  carries  with  it  clouds  of 
dust.  The  arrangement  was  most  convenient  for  the  camp,  and 
was  afterwards  found  to  be  of  similar  advantage  when  they  mar- 
shaled their  troops  for  battle.  Their  own  faces  were  turned  away 
and  the  wind  did  but  blow  on  their  backs,  while  the  enemy  with 
whom  they  were  to  fight  was  blinded  by  volumes  of  dust. 

The  consuls,  after  duly  reconnoitering  the  roads,  followed  the 
Carthaginians  till  they  reached  Cannae,  where  they  had  the  enemy 
in  sight.  They  then  intrenched  and  fortified  two  camps,  separating 
their  forces  by  about  the  same  distance  as  before  at  Ger-e-o'ni-um. 
The  river  Au'fi-dus,  which  flowed  near  both  camps,  furnished 
water  to  both  armies,  the  soldiers  approaching  as  they  most  conven- 
iently could,  not,  however,  without  some  skirmishing.  From  the 
smaller  camp,  which  had  been  pitched  on  the  farther  side  of  the 
Aufidus,  the  Romans  procured  water  with  less  difficulty,  as  the 
opposite  bank  was  not  held  by  any  hostile  force.  Hannibal  saw  his 
hope  accomplished,  that  the  consuls  would  offer  battle  on  ground 
made  for  the  action  of  cavalry,  in  which  arm  he  was  invincible. 
He  drew  up  his  men,  and  sought  to  provoke  his  foe  by  throwing 
forward  his  Numidian  troopers.  Then  the  Roman  camp  was  once 
more  disturbed  by  mutiny  among  the  troops  and  disagreement  be- 
tween the  consuls.  Paulus  taunted  Varro  with  the  rashness  of 
Sempronius  and  Flaminius ;  Varro  reproached  Paulus  with  copy- 
ing Fabius,  an  example  attractive  to  timid  and  indolent  command- 
ers, and  called  both  gods  and  men  to  witness  that  it  was  no  fault  of 
his  if  Hannibal  had  now  a  prescriptive  possession  of  Italy.  "  I," 
said  he,  "  have  my  hands  tied  and  held  fast  by  my  colleague.  My 
soldiers,  furious  and  eager  to  fight,  are  stripped  of  their  swords  and 
arms. ' '  Paulus  declared  that  if  any  disaster  befell  the  legions  reck- 
lessly thrown  and  betrayed  into  battle  without  deliberation  or  fore- 
thought, he  would  share  all  their  fortunes,  while  holding  himself 
free  from  all  blame.  "  Let  Varro  look  to  it  that  they  whose  tongues 
were  so  ready  and  so  bold,  had  hands  equally  vigorous  in  the  day 
of  battle." 

While  they  thus  wasted  the  time  in  disputing  rather  than  in 
deliberating,  Hannibal,  who  had  kept  his  lines  drawn  up  till  late 
in  the  day,  called  back  the  rest  of  his  troops  into  his  camp,  but 
sent  forward  the  Numidian  cavalry  across  the  river  to  attack 
the  water-parties  from  the  smaller  of  the  two  Roman  camps. 
Coming  on  with  shouting  and  uproar  they  sent  the  undisciplined 
crowd  flying  before  they  had  even  reached  the  bank,  and  rode 


LIVT.  167 

on  till  they  came  on  an  outpost  stationed  before  the  rampart 
and  close  to  the  very  camp-gates.  So  scandalous  did  it  seem  that  a 
Roman  camp  should  be  alarmed  by  some  irregular  auxiliaries  that 
the  only  circumstance  which  hindered  the  Romans  from  imme- 
diately crossing  the  river  and  forming  their  line  of  battle  was,  that 
the  supreme  command  that  day  rested  with  Paulus.  But  the  next 
day  Varro,  without  consulting  his  colleague,  gave  the  signal  to  en- 
gage, and  drawing  up  his  forces  led  them  across  the  river.  Paulus 
followed  him  ;  he  could  withhold  his  sanction  from  the  movement, 
but  not  his  support.  The  river  crossed,  they  joined  to  their  own 
the  forces  retained  by  them  in  the  smaller  camp,  and  then  formed 
their  lines.  On  the  right  wing  (the  one  nearer  to  the  river)  they 
posted  the  Roman  cavalry  and  next  the  infantry.  On  the  extreme 
flank  of  the  left  wing  were  the  allied  cavalry,  next  the  allied 
infantry,  side  by  side  with  the  Roman  legions  in  the  center. 
Slingers  and  other  light-armed  auxiliaries  made  up  the  first  line. 
Paulus  commanded  the  left  wing ;  Yarro  the  right ;  Ge-min'i-us 
Ser-vil'i-us  had  charge  Of  the  center. 

At  dawn  Hannibal,  sending  in  advance  his  slingers  and  light- 
armed  troops,  crossed  the  river,  assigning  each  division  its  position 
as  it  crossed.  His  Gallic  and  Spanish  cavalry  he  posted  near  the 
river  bank  on  the  left  wing,  facing  the  Roman  horse ;  the  right 
wing  was  assigned  to  the  Numidian  cavalry ;  the  center  showed 
a  strong  force  of  infantry,  having  on  either  side  the  African  troops, 
with  the  Gauls  and  Spaniards  between  them.  These  Africans 
might  have  been  taken  for  a  Roman  force ;  so  largely  were  they 
equipped  with  weapons  taken  at  Trebia,  and  yet  more  at  Trasu- 
mennus.  The  Gauls  and  Spaniards  had  shields  of  very  nearly  the 
same  shape,  but  their  swords  were  widely  different  in  size  and 
form,  the  Gauls  having  them  very  long  and  pointless,  while  the 
Spaniards,  who  were  accustomed  to  assail  the  enemy  with  thrusts 
rather  than  with  blows,  had  them  short,  handy,  and  pointed. 
These  nations  had  a  specially  terrible  appearance,  so  gigantic 
was  their  stature  and  so  strange  their  look.  The  Gauls  were  naked 
above  the  navel ;  the  Spaniards  wore  tunics  of  linen  bordered  with 
purple,  of  a  whiteness  marvelously  dazzling.  The  total  number  of 
the  infantry  who  were  that  day  ranged  in  line  was  forty  thousand, 
that  of  the  cavalry  ten  thousand.  Hasdrubal  commanded  the  left 
wing ;  Maharbal  the  right ;  Hannibal  himself,  with  his  brother 
Mago,  was  in  the  center.  The  sun — whether  the  troops  were 
purposely  so  placed,  or  whether  it  was  by  chance — fell  very  con- 
veniently sideways  on  both  armies,  the  Romans  facing  the  south, 
the  Carthaginians  the  north.  The  wind  (called  Vulturnus  by  the 
natives  of  those  parts)  blew  straight  against  the  Romans  and 
whirled  clouds  of  dust  into  their  faces  till  they  could  see  nothing. 


168  CLASSIC  LATIN   COURSE  IN  ENGLISH. 

With  a  loud  shout  the  auxiliaries  charged,  the  light  troops 
thus  beginning  the  battle.  Next  the  Gallic  and  Spanish  horse 
of  the  left  wing  encountered  the  right  wing  of  the  Romans.  The 
fight  was  not  at  all  like  a  cavalry  engagement;  they  had  to 
meet  face  to  face ;  there  was  no  room  for  maneuvering,  shut  in 
as  they  were  by  the  river  on  one  side  and  the  lines  of  infantry 
on  the  other.  Both  sides  pushed  straightforward  till,  with  their 
horses  brought  to  a  stand  and  crowded  together  in  a  mass,  each 
man  seized  his  antagonist  and  strove  to  drag  him  from  his  seat. 
The  struggle  now  became  mainly  a  struggle  of  infantry ;  but  the 
conflict  was  rather  fierce  than  protracted.  The  Roman  cavalry 
were  defeated  and  put  to  flight.  Just  before  the  encounter  of 
the  cavalry  came  to  an  end,  the  fight  between  the  infantry  began. 
The  two  sides  were  well  matched  in  strength  and  courage,  as  long 
as  the  Gauls  and  Spaniards  kept  their  ranks  unbroken  ;  at  last  the 
Romans,  after  long  and  repeated  efforts,  sloped  their  front  and 
broke,  by  their  deep  formation,  the  enemy's  column,  which, 
advanced  as  it  was  from  the  rest  of  the  line,  was  shallow  and  there- 
fore weak.  Pursuing  the  broken  and  rapidly  retreating  foe, 
they  made  their  way  without  a  halt  through  the  rout  of  panic- 
stricken  fugitives  till  they  reached,  first,  the  center  of  the  line,  and 
then,  meeting  with  no  check,  the  reserves  of  the  African  troops. 
These  had  been  stationed  on  the  wings  which  had  been  somewhat 
retired,  while  the  center,  where  the  Gauls  and  Spaniards  had  been 
posted,  was  proportionately  advanced.  As  that  column  fell  back, 
the  line  became  level ;  when  they  pushed  their  retreat,  they  made 
a  hollow  in  the  center.  The  Africans  now  overlapped  on  either 
side,  and  as  the  Romans  rushed  heedlessly  into  the  intervening 
space,  they  first  outflanked  them  and  then,  extending  their  own 
formation,  actually  hemmed  in  their  rear.  Upon  this  the  Romans, 
who  had  fought  one  battle  to  no  purpose,  quitted  the  Gauls  and 
Spaniards,  whose  rear  they  had  been  slaughtering,  and  began 
a  new  conflict  with  the  Africans,  a  conflict  unfair,  not  only  because 
they  were  shut  in  with  foes  all  round  them,  but  because  they  were 
wearied,  while  the  enemy  was  fresh  and  vigorous. 

On  the  left  wing  of  the  Romans  the  cavalry  of  the  allies  had  been 
posted  against  the  Numidians.  Here,  too,  battle  had  been  joined, 
though  with  little  spirit  for  a  time,  the  first  movement  being  a  Car- 
thaginian stratagem.  Nearly  five  hundred  Numidians  who,  be- 
sides their  usual  armor  and  missiles  had  swords  hidden  under 
their  cuirasses,  rode  out  from  their  own  line  with  their  shields 
slung  behind  their  backs  as  though  they  had  been  deserters,  leaped 
in  haste  from  their  horses  and  threw  their  shields  and  javelins 
at  the  feet  of  the  Romans.  They  were  received  into  the  center 
of  the  line,  taken  to  the  extreme  rear,  and  bidden  to  keep  their 


LIVY.  169 

place  behind.  While  the  battle  spread  from  place  to  place  they  re- 
mained motionless ;  but  as  soon  as  all  eyes  and  thoughts  were 
intent  on  the  conflict,  they  seized  the  shields  which  lay  scattered 
everywhere  among  the  piles  of  dead,  and  fell  on  the  Roman 
line  from  the  rear.  They  wounded  the  backs  and  legs  of  the  men, 
and  while  they  made  a  great  slaughter,  spread  far  greater  panic 
and  confusion.  While  there  was  terror  and  flight  on  the  right,  and 
in  the  center  an  obstinate  resistance,  though  with  little  hope, 
Hasdrubal,  who  was  in  command  in  this  quarter,  withdrew  the 
Numidians  from  the  center,  seeing  that  they  fought  with  but  little 
spirit,  and  having  sent  them  in  all  directions  to  pursue  the  enemy, 
re-enforced  with  the  Spanish  and  Gallic  cavalry  the  African  troops, 
wearied  as  they  now  were  with  slaughter  rather  than  with  fight- 
ing. 

Paulus  was  on  the  other  side  of  the  field.  He  had  been  seriously 
wounded  at  the  very  beginning  of  the  battle  by  a  bullet  from 
a  sling,  but  yet  he  repeatedly  encountered  Hannibal  with  a 
compact  body  of  troops,  and  at  several  points  restored  the  fortune 
of  the  day.  He  was  protected  by  the  Roman  cavalry,  who  at  last 
sent  away  their  horses  when  the  consul  became  too  weak  to 
manage  his  charger.  Some  one  told  Hannibal  that  the  consul  had 
ordered  the  cavalry  to  dismount.  "  He  might  better  hand  them 
over  to  me  bound  hand  and  foot,"  said  he.  The  horsemen  fought 
on  foot  as  men  were  likely  to  fight,  when,  the  victory  of  the  enemy 
being  beyond  all  doubt,  the  vanquished  preferred  dying  where 
they  stood  to  flight,  and  the  victors,  furious  with  those  who  delayed 
their  triumph,  slaughtered  the  foes  whom  they  could  not  move. 
Move  them,  however,  they  did — that  is,  a  few  survivors,  exhausted 
with  wounds  and  fatigue.  All  were  then  scattered,  and  such  as 
were  able  sought  to  recover  their  horses  and  fly.  Cn.  [One' i- us] 
Len'tu-lus,  as  he  galloped  by,  saw  the  consul  sitting  on  a  stone  and 
covered  with  blood.  "  Lucius  jEmilius,"  he  cried,  "  the  one  man 
whom  heaven  must  regard  as  guiltless  of  this  day's  calamity,  take 
this  horse  while  you  have  some  strength  left,  and  I  am  here  to 
be  with  you,  to  lift  you  to  the  saddle,  and  to  defend  you.  Do 
not  make  this  defeat  yet  sadder  by  a  consul's  death.  There  is 
weeping  and  sorrow  enough  without  this."  The  consul  replied, 
"'Tis  a  brave  thought  of  thine,  Cn.  Cornelius;  but  waste  not 
the  few  moments  you  have  for  escaping  from  the  enemy  in  fruitless 
pity.  My  public  message  to  the  senators  is  that  they  must  fortify 
Rome  and  make  its  garrison  as  strong  as  may  be  before  the  victori- 
ous enemy  arrives.  My  private  message  to  Quintus  Fabius  is  that 
Lucius  JEmilius  remembered  his  teaching  in  life  and  death.  As 
for  me,  let  me  breathe  my  last  among  my  slaughtered  soldiers.  I 
would  not  again  leave  my  consulship  to  answer  for  my  life,  nor 


170  CLASSIC  LATIN  COURSE  IN  ENGLISH. 

would  I  stand  up  to  accuse  my  colleague,  and  by  accusing  another 
protect  my  own  innocence." 

While  they  thus  talked  together,  they  were  overtaken,  first  by  a 
crowd  of  Roman  fugitives  and  then  by  the  enemy.  These  last 
buried  the  consul  under  a  shower  of  javelins,  not  knowing  who  he 
was.  Lentulus  galloped  off  in  the  confusion.  The  Romans  now 
fled  wildly  in  every  direction.  Seven  thousand  men  escaped  into 
the  smaller,  ten  thousand  into  the  larger  camp,  ten  thousand  more 
into  the  village  of  Cannse  itself.  These  last  were  immediately  sur- 
rounded by  Car'tha-lo  and  the  cavalry,  for  no  fortification  pro- 
tected the  place.  The  other  consul,  who,  whether  by  chance  or  of 
set  purpose,  had  not  joined  any  large  body  of  fugitives,  fled 
with  about  five  hundred  horsemen  to  Ve-nu'si-a.  Forty-five  thou- 
sand five  hundred  infantry,  two  thousand  seven  hundred  cavalry, 
and  almost  as  many  more  citizens  and  allies  are  said  to  have  fallen. 
Among  these  were  the  quaestors  of  both  consuls,  Lucius  Atilius  and 
Furius  Bi-bac'u-lus,  twenty-nine  tribunes  of  the  soldiers,  and  not 
a  few  ex-consuls,  ex-prsetors,  and  ex-sediles  (among  them  Cn.  Ser- 
vilius  and  Marcus  Minucius,  who  the  year  before  had  been  the 
master  of  the  horse,  and  consul  some  years  before  that),  eighty  who 
were  either  actual  senators  or  had  filled  such  offices  as  made  them 
eligible  for  the  senate,  and  who  had  volunteered  to  serve  in  the 
legions.  In  this  battle  three  thousand  infantry  and  one  thousand 
five  hundred  cavalry  are  said  to  have  been  taken  prisoners. 

Such  was  the  battle  of  Cannse,  as  famous  as  the  disaster  at  the 
Allia,  and  though  less  serious  in  its  consequences,  thanks  to  the 
inaction  of  the  enemy,  yet  in  loss  of  men  still  more  ruinous 
and  disgraceful.  The  flight  at  the  Allia  lost  the  city  but  saved  the 
army ;  at  Cannse  the  consul  who  fled  was  followed  by  barely 
fifty  men ;  with  the  consul  who  perished,  perished  nearly  the 
whole  army. 

Livy  perhaps  was  mistaken,  but,  according  to  Livy,  Hanni- 
bal did  not  quite  prove  a  match  to  the  greatness  of  his  own 
triumph — the  excess  of  his  victory  defeated  him.  Livy  thus 
relates  what  one  can  only  guess  how  he  knew  : 

Round  the  victorious  Hannibal  crowded  his  officers  with  con- 
gratulations and  entreaties  that  now  that  this  mighty  war  was 
finished  he  should  take  what  remained  of  that  day  and  the  follow- 
ing night  for  rest,  and  give  the  same  to  his  wearied  soldiers.  Ma- 
harbal,  the  general  of  his  cavalry,  thought  that  there  should  be  no 
pause.  "Nay,"  he  cried,  "that  you  may  know  what  has  been 
achieved  by  this  victory,  you  shall  hold  a  conqueror's  feast  within 
five  days  in  the  Capitol.  Pursue  them  ;  I  will  go  before  you  with 


LIVY.  171 

my  cavalry,  and  they  shall  know  that  you  are  come  before  they 
know  that  you  are  coming."  Hannibal  felt  that  his  success  was 
too  great  for  him  to  be  able  to  realize  it  at  the  moment.  "  He  com- 
mended," he  said,  "Maharbal's  zeal,  but  he  must  take  time  to 
deliberate."  Maharbal  replied,  "  Well,  the  gods  do  not  give  all 
gifts  to  one  man.  Hannibal,  you  know  how  to  conquer ;  not  how 
to  use  a  conquest."  That  day's  delay  is  believed  to  have  saved 
Rome  and  its  empire. 

Scipio,  destined  to  be  Scipio  Af-ri-ca/nus,  now  makes  a 
grand  theatric  entrance  upon  the  scene — amid  the  general  dis- 
may the  one  figure  at  Rome  that  rose  greater  than  the  great- 
ness of  the  ruin  around  him.  Always  equal  to  his  most 
Roman  occasion,  Livy  thus  shows  "Scipio,  the  highth  of 
Rome,"  striding  out  into  the  blaze  of  history,  like  a  trium- 
phant tragedian  saluting  his  audience  from  behind  the  foot- 
lights upon  the  boards  where  he  reigns  : 

The  supreme  command  was  unanimously  assigned  to  Scipio, 
who  was  a  very  young  man,  and  to  Claudius.  They  were  holding 
council  with  a  few  friends  about  the  state  of  affairs,  when  Publius 
Furius  Philus,  whose  father  was  an  ex-consul,  said  that  it  was  idle 
for  them  to  cling  to  utterly  ruined  hopes.  The  State,  he  declared, 
was  given  over  for  lost.  Certain  young  nobles  with  Lu'ci-us 
Cse-cil'i-us  Me-tel'lus  at  their  head,  were  thinking  of  flying  be- 
yond sea  and  deserting  their  country  for  the  service  of  some  for- 
eign king.  In  face  of  a  peril,  terrible  in  itself,  and  coming  with 
fresh  force  after  so  many  disasters,  all  present  stood  motionless  in 
amazement  and  stupefaction.  They  proposed  that  a  council  should 
be  called  to  consider  the  matter,  but  the  young  Scipio,  Rome's 
predestined  champion  in  this  war,  declared  that  it  was  no  time  for 
a  council.  "We  must  dare  and  act,"  he  said,  "  not  deliberate,  in 
such  awful  calamity.  Let  all  who  desire  the  salvation  of  their 
country,  come  armed  with  me.  No  camp  is  more  truly  a  camp  of 
the  enemy  than  that  in  which  men  have  such  thoughts."  He 
immediately  started  with  a  few  followers  for  the  house  of  Metellus ; 
there  he  found  a  gathering  of  the  youths  of  whom  he  had  heard. 
Drawing  his  sword  over  the  heads  of  the  conspirators,  "  It  is  my 
fixed  resolve,"  he  cried,  "  as  I  will  not  myself  desert  the  common- 
wealth of  Rome,  so  not  to  suffer  any  other  Roman  citizen  to  desert 
it;  if  I  knowingly  fail  therein,  almighty  and  merciful  Jupiter, 
smite  me,  my  house,  and  fortunes  with  utter  destruction.  I  insist 
that  you,  Lucius  Csecilius,  and  all  others  present,  take  this  oath 


172  CLASSIC  LATIN  COURSE  IN  ENGLISH. 

after  me.  Whoever  takes  it  not  may  be  sure  this  sword  is  drawn 
against  him."  They  were  as  frightened  as  if  they  saw  the  victori- 
ous Hannibal  before  them,  and  to  a  man  they  swore  and  delivered 
themselves  to  the  custody  of  Scipio. 

Was  not  this  Scipio  a  born  master  of  men  ?  Or,  if  he  was 
not  really  such,  did  not  Livy  nobly  imagine  him  such  ? 

Some  small  remnant  of  the  Roman  force  escaped  from  the 
destruction  at  Cannae.  But  (Livy  again  now,  in  description 
of  the  state  of  things  existing  in  the  capital) : 

At  Rome  report  said  that  no  such  mere  remnant  of  citizens  and 
allies  survived,  but  that  the  army  with  the  two  consuls  had  been 
utterly  destroyed,  and  that  the  whole  force  had  ceased  to  exist. 
Never  before,  with  Rome  itself  still  safe,  had  there  been  such  panic 
and  confusion  within  our  walls.  I  shall  decline  the  task  of  attempt- 
ing a  lengthened  description  which  could  not  but  be  far  inferior  to 
the  truth.  The  year  before  a  consul  with  his  army  had  perished 
at  Trasumennus;  it  was  not  wound  after  wound,  but  multiplied 
disasters  that  were  announced.  Two  consuls  and  the  armies  of  two 
consuls  had  perished.  Rome  had  now  no  camp,  no  general,  no 
soldiers.  Hannibal  was  master  of  Apulia,  of  Samnium,  of  nearly 
the  whole  of  Italy.  Certainly  there  was  not  a  nation  in  the  world 
which  would  not  have  been  overwhelmed  by  such  a  weight  of 
calamity.  Compare,  for  instance,  the  blow  which  the  Carthagin- 
ians received  in  the  sea-fight  at  the  ^E-ga'tes  Islands,  a  blow  which 
made  them  evacuate  Sicily  and  Sardinia  and  allow  themselves  to  be 
burdened  with  indemnity  and  tribute ;  compare  again  the  defeat  in 
Africa,  by  which  Hannibal  himself  was  subsequently  crushed.  In 
no  respect  are  they  comparable  with  Cannae,  except  because  they 
were  borne  with  less  courage. 

How  Livy  rejoices  to  pluck  a  garland  of  glory  for  Rome  off 
the  very  acme  and  summit  of  her  utmost  disaster  !  And  un- 
questionable fact  abundantly  justifies  the  historian's  audacity. 
Rome  was  truly  a  wonderful  nation — the  very  incarnation  of 
virtue,  as  she  conceived  virtue,  and  as  virtue,  under  the  tuition 
of  her  conquering  power,  came,  in  pagan  antiquity,  to  be  uni- 
versally conceived.  The  sound  itself,  of  her  name,  is  a  spell 
to  call  up  the  idea  of  such  character. 

The  allies  of  Rome  began  to  forsake  her.  Livy  gives  a 
formidable  list  of  these  losses  to  Rome.  He  then  loftily  adds : 


LIVY.  173 

Yet  all  these  disasters  and  defections  never  made  the  Romans  so 
much  as  mention  peace,  either  before  the  consul  returned  to  Home, 
or  after  his  return  had  renewed  the  remembrance  of  the  terrible 
loss  sustained.  On  this  latter  occasion,  indeed,  such  was  the  high 
spirit  of  the  country,  that  when  the  consul  returned  after  this  great 
disaster  of  which  he  had  himself  been  the  chief  cause,  all  classes 
went  in  crowds  to  meet  him,  and  he  was  publicly  thanked  because 
"  he  had  not  despaired  of  the  commonwealth." 

Livy  contrasts,  with  all  confidence  certainly,  and  probably 
with  truth,  what,  in  a  different  case,  would  have  befallen  the 
consul : 

Had  he  been  a  Carthaginian  general,  they  knew  that  there  was 
no  torture  which  he  would  not  have  had  to  suffer. 

We  have  now  got  to  the  end  of  the  second  book  of  Livy's 
third  decade.  But  we  shall  not  fairly  have  presented  the  state 
of  things  created  at  Rome  by  the  disaster  of  Cannae,  without 
mention  of  the  fact  that  there  were  fearful  omens  observed  by 
the  Romans  and  fearful  expiations  accomplished  to  the  gods. 
Livy  seems  to  shudder  rhetorically  as  he  gives  his  account  of 
the  latter : 

In  obedience  to  the  books  of  Fate,  some  unusual  sacrifices  were 
offered.  Among  them  were  a  man  and  a  woman  of  Gaul,  and  a 
man  and  a  woman  of  Greece,  who  were  buried  alive  in  the  Ox- 
market  in  a  stone-vaulted  chamber,  not  then  for  the  first  time 
polluted  by  what  Roman  feeling  utterly  abhorred,  human  sacrifice. 

The  rest  of  the  story  of  Hannibal  stretches  out  too  long  for 
us  to  give  it  here  in  any  detail.  He  has  now  reached  the  height 
of  his  prosperity.  It  remains  for  him  henceforth  to  the  end  of 
his  protracted  career  to  display  his  greatness  under  adversity. 
He  was  tried,  in  every  vicissitude  of  fortune,  by  every  experi- 
ment of  situation,  and  he  was  seldom,  perhaps  never,  found 
wanting.  He  was  more  than  simply  a  great  general.  He  was 
a  truly  great  man. 

From  Italy  the  war  at  length  was,  by  Scipio's  motion  and 
under  his  conduct,  transferred  into  Africa.  Carthage,  who 
would  not  support  her  illustrious  son  abroad,  now  summoned 


174  CLASSIC  LATIN  COURSE  IN  ENGLISH. 

that  son  to  her  own  support  at  home.  Hannibal  loyally  came 
at  the  call  of  his  country  and  joined,  with  his  brilliant  antago- 
nist, Scipio,  the  great  battle  of  Za'ma.  Scipio  conquered,  and 
Carthage  was  at  the  mercy  of  Rome.  Hannibal,  without  an 
army,  and  a  fugitive  from  land  to  land,  was  still  formidable 
to  his  ancient  foe.  But  the  stars  in  their  courses  fought 
against  the  indomitable  Carthaginian.  What — after  having 
first  sought  in  vain  to  inspire  the  stolid  mercantile  oligarchy 
of  Carthage  with  his  own  spirit  of  patriotic  hostility  to  Rome, 
and  then  in  vain  to  make  An-ti'o-chus  of  Asia  let  him  demon- 
strate how  Rome  might  yet  be  conquered — what,  we  say,  after 
all  this,  Hannibal  finally  attempted  and  suffered,  we  may 
hope  many  of  our  readers  will  be  incited  to  learn  for  them- 
selves, exploring  in  the  full  text  of  Livy  translated. 

In  the  course  of  doing  this,  they  will  find  that  Livy  sup- 
plied to  his  countrymen,  in  his  story  of  Rome,  an  unsurpassed 
text-book  of  lofty  example,  of  nobly  inspiring  national  and 
individual  tradition. 


CHAPTEE  VIII. 

TACITUS. 

A  VERY  different  writer  of  history  from  Livy,  is  Tacitus. 
Tacitus,  however,  though  different,  is  not  less  interesting  than 
Livy.  He  has  an  equally  entertaining  story  to  tell,  and  he  tells 
his  story  every  whit  as  admirably.  It  is  not  romance,  it  is 
history,  with  Tacitus.  The  color  is  not  rose  any  longer.  It 
is  stern,  often  livid,  likeness  to  life.  If  Livy  is  Claude  Lor- 
raine, Tacitus  is  Salvator  Rosa :  if  Livy  is  Titian,  Tacitus  is 
Rembrandt.  You  read  Livy,  and  you  are  inspired.  You  read 
Tacitus,  and  you  are  oppressed.  But  the  oppression  somehow 
at  length  leaves  you,  by  reaction,  braced ;  while  the  inspira- 
tion somehow  at  length  leaves  you,  as  if  through  too  much 
elixir,  languid.  For  the  inspiration  is  the  effect  of  romance, 
and  the  oppression  is  the  effect  of  reality.  Reality  is  generally 
much  more  somber  than  romance,  and  Tacitus  is  far  more 
somber  than  Livy. 

When  Livy  wrote,  the  Roman  Empire  was  young.  It  had 
the  halo  of  uncertain  hope  about  it.  Augustus  had  brought 
back  peace  to  a  distracted  commonwealth,  and  Livy  wrote  in 
the  sunrise  of  a  new  era  that  perhaps  would  be  glorious. 
When  Tacitus  wrote,  the  aureole  was  gone,  for  the  empire 
was  now  a  hundred  years  old.  There  had  been  Tiberius, 
Caligula,  Claudius,  Nero.  No  wonder  if  now,  for  the  writing 
of  Roman  history,  grim  realism  took  the  place  of  blithe 
romance. 

Of  Caius  Cornelius  Tacitus  himself  we  know  very  little. 

175 


176  CLASSIC   LATIN  COURSE  IN  ENGLISH. 

We  do  not  know  where  he  was  born.  We  do  not  know  when 
he  was  born.  He  was  probably  born  about  the  year  50  of  the 
Christian  era.  A  town  in  Umbria  is  named  as  his  birthplace. 
Pliny  was  a  younger  friend,  a  loyal  and  affectionate  admirer, 
of  the  historian.  From  Pliny  we  derive  what  knowledge  we 
possess  concerning  his  elder  and  more  illustrious  compeer ; 
except,  indeed,  that  Tacitus  himself  makes  us  know  that  he 
held  public  office  in  a  constantly  ascending  scale  under  Ves- 
pasian, under  Titus,  and  under  Domitian.  Later,  Tacitus  was 
consul;  for  there  was  still  a  titular  consulship,  even  under 
the  empire.  He  was  also  senator ;  for  there  was  still  a  titular 
senate.  With  the  accession  of  Trajan,  the  political  activity  of 
Tacitus  seems  to  have  terminated.  That  great  prince  was  too 
strong  for  individual  subjects  under  his  sway  to  enjoy  much 
freedom  of  political  action.  But  he  was  also  too  strong  to  feel 
any  necessity  of  greatly  abridging  his  subjects'  freedom  of 
speech.  Romans  might  say  what  pleased  themselves,  on  the 
simple  condition  that  they  would  do  what  pleased  their  empe- 
ror. Tacitus  accordingly  turned  now  decisively  from  politics  to 
literature ;  and  well  it  is  for  us  that  he  did  so.  Near  two  centu- 
ries from  his  time  will  pass,  and  there  will  then  ascend  the 
throne  of  the  world  an  emperor  who,  bearing  the  same  name, 
the  name  of  Tacitus,  will  fondly  trace  his  lineage  back  to  this 
prince  in  literature,  so  to  derive  for  himself  a  prouder  than 
imperial  ancestry. 

Tacitus  had  probably,  before  Trajan's  accession,  already  pro- 
duced his  Dialogue  on  Oratory.  Shortly  after  Trajan's  acces- 
sion, he  published  his  life  of  Agricola,  his  own  father-in-law. 
His  tract  on  Germany,  we  may  suppose,  soon  followed.  The 
principal  historical  works  of  Tacitus  are  two ;  the  History,  or 
Histories,  distinctively  so  called,  and  the  Annals.  The  Annals, 
though  subsequent  in  composition,  treat  of  an  earlier  period 
than  the  History.  The  History  Tacitus  seems  never  to  have 
completed  according  to  his  original  design  for  that  work.  He 


TACITUS.  177 

alludes  to  projects  in  history  entertained  by  him,  of  which,  if 
he  ever  fulfilled  them,  we  have  utterly  lost  the  fulfillment. 
But  on  the  basis  of  that  which  survives  of  writing  actually 
accomplished  by  him,  Tacitus  stands  forth  to-day  an  historian 
confessedly  without  superior  in  the  republic  of  letters.  If  he 
does  not  flash  like  Livy,  he  burns  as  steady  and  as  strong  as 
Thucydides.  No  more  weighty,  no  more  serious,  no  more 
penetrating,  no  sounder,  truer,  manlier  mind  than  Tacitus, 
perhaps,  ever  wrote  history. 

We  shall  chiefly  draw  from  the  Annals,  to  give  our 
readers  their  taste  of  the  quality  of  Tacitus.  But  first  from 
the  great  other  work  of  his  hand  let  us  show  the  majestic  sen- 
tences in  which,  at  the  beginning  of  the  work,  the  historian 
sets  forth  the  object  proposed  by  him,  and  passes  in  rapid  re- 
view the  whole  course  of  the  history.  The  reader  will  find  it 
very  interesting  and  suggestive  to  compare  the  opening  of 
Macaulay's  History  of  England.  Tacitus : 

I  am  entering  on  the  history  of  a  period  rich  in  disasters,  fright- 
ful in  its  wars,  torn  by  civil  strife,  and  even  in  peace  full  of  horrors. 
Four  emperors  perished  by  the  sword.  There  were  three  civil 
wars ;  there  were  more  with  foreign  enemies ;  there  were  often 
wars  that  had  both  characters  at  once.  There  was  success  in  the 
East,  and  disaster  in  the  West.  There  were  disturbances  in  Illyri- 
cum ;  Gaul  wavered  in  its  allegiance ;  Britain  was  thoroughly  sub- 
dued and  immediately  abandoned ;  the  tribes  of  the  Suevi  and  the 
Sarmatse  rose  in  concert  against  us ;  the  Dacians  had  the  glory 
of  inflicting  as  well  as  suffering  defeat ;  the  armies  of  Parthia  were 
all  but  set  in  motion  by  the  cheat  of  a  counterfeit  Nero.  Now,  too, 
Italy  was  prostrated  by  disasters  either  entirely  novel,  or  that 
recurred  only  after  a  long  succession  of  ages ;  cities  in  Campania's 
richest  plains  were  swallowed  up  and  overwhelmed ;  Rome  was 
wasted  by  conflagrations,  its  oldest  temples  consumed,  and  the 
Capitol  itself  fired  by  the  hands  of  citizens.  Sacred  rites  were  pro- 
faned ;  there  was  profligacy  in  the  highest  ranks ;  the  sea  was 
crowded  with  exiles,  and  its  rocks  polluted  with  bloody  deeds.  In 
the  capital  there  were  yet  worse  horrors.  Nobility,  wealth,  the  re- 
fusal or  the  acceptance  of  office,  were  grounds  for  accusation,  and 
virtue  insured  destruction.  The  rewards  of  the  informers  were  no 
less  odious  than  their  crimes ;  for  while  some  seized  on  consulships 


178  CLASSIC  LATIN  COURSE  IN  ENGLISH. 

and  priestly  offices,  as  their  share  of  the  spoil,  others  on  procurator- 
ships,  and  posts  of  more  confidential  authority,  they  robbed  and 
ruined  in  every  direction  amid  universal  hatred  and  terror.  Slaves 
were  bribed  to  turn  against  their  masters,  and  freedmen  to  betray 
their  patrons :  and  those  who  had  not  an  enemy  were  destroyed  by 
friends. 

Yet  the  age  was  not  so  barren  in  noble  qualities,  as  not  also  to  ex- 
hibit examples  of  virtue.  Mothers  accompanied  the  flight  of  their 
sons ;  wives  followed  their  husbands  into  exile ;  there  were  brave 
kinsmen  and  faithful  sons-in-law  ;  there  were  slaves  whose  fidelity 
defied  even  torture ;  there  were  illustrious  men  driven  to  the  last 
necessity,  and  enduring  it  with  fortitude;  there  were  closing 
scenes  that  equaled  the  famous  deaths  of  antiquity.  Besides 
the  manifold  vicissitudes  of  human  affairs,  there  were  prodigies  in 
heaven  and  earth,  the  warning  voices  of  the  thunder,  and  other  in- 
timations of  the  future,  auspicious  or  gloomy,  doubtful  or  not  to  be 
mistaken.  Never,  surely,  did  more  terrible  calamities  of  the 
Roman  people,  or  evidence  more  conclusive,  prove  that  the  gods 
take  no  thought  for  our  happiness,  but  only  for  our  punishment. 

I  think  it  proper,  however,  before  I  commence  my  purposed 
work,  to  pass  under  review  the  condition  of  the  capital,  the  temper 
of  the  armies,  the  attitude  of  the  provinces,  and  the  elements 
of  weakness  and  strength  which  existed  throughout  the  whole  em- 
pire, that  so-we  may  become  acquainted,  not  only  with  the  vicissi- 
tudes and  the  issues  of  events,  which  are  often  matters  of  chance, 
but  also  with  their  relations  and  their  causes. 

The  clause,  "  with  their  relations  and  their  causes,"  reveals 
a  feature  of  the  method  of  Tacitus  in  which  he  differs  from 
Livy.  Livy  is  a  romantic,  whereas  Tacitus  is  a  philosophical, 
historian.  History,  in  the  handling  of  Tacitus,  becomes  phi- 
losophy teaching  by  example.  History,  in  the  handling  of 
Livy,  was  largely  the  imagination  delighting  by  pictures, 
whether  pictures  of  fact  or  of  fancy.  The  pathetic  gravity, 
the  sententious  density,  of  the  foregoing  passage  from  Tacitus, 
would  be  better  appreciated  by  the  reader  who  could  turn 
back  to  it,  and  peruse  it  again,  after  having  first  gone  through 
the  details  which  it  compresses  in  that  marvelous  brevity 
of  statement.  The  preface  thus  prefixed  to  the  History  will 
be  found  to  fit  the  Annals  nearly  as  well. 

We  said  that  Tacitus  has  a  story  to  tell  not  less  entertaining 


TACITUS.  179 

than  the  story  told  by  Livy.  This  is  true  whether  understood 
of  his  History  or  of  his  Annals.  Tacitus  himself,  how- 
ever, felt  that  he  wrote  at  disadvantage,  as  contrasted  with 
preceding  historians,  because  his  subject  was  less  heroic,  less 
glorious.  He  was  at  heart  an  aristocrat  of  the  elder  times. 
The  degeneracy  of  the  senate  of  his  own  days,  he  bewailed,  as 
one  kindred  in  spirit  with  that  proud  oligarchy  of  which, 
a  hundred  years  before  Livy  had  sung  in  lyric  prose  his 
"passionate  ballad,  gallant  and  gay."  Still  Tacitus  was, 
under  the  circumstances  that  he  found  existing,  a  good 
enough  imperialist.  Doubtless  he  thought  the  new  order,  that 
had  established  itself,  better  than  the  old  order  which,  because 
it  was  no  longer  worthy,  had  lapsed.  You  hear,  however,  the 
undertone  of  pathos  for  the  long-gone  and  irrecoverable 
past,  mingled  with  superb  disdain  for  the  ignoble  present,  run- 
ning through  the  whole  course  of  the  history  of  Tacitus.  In- 
dignant pessimism  is  the  keynote  everywhere  to  his  writing. 

The  Annals,  a  work,  as  already  said,  to  be  distinguished 
from  the  History,  embraced  the  interval  between  the  years 
14  and  68  of  the  Christian  era.  The  concluding  part,  that  is, 
the  part  covering  the  last  three  years  of  the  reign  of  Nero,  is 
lost.  Parts  also  in  the  midst  of  the  work  have  perished.  The 
whole  narrative  is  depressing.  It  is  a  melancholy  monotony 
of  misery  and  crime.  But  Tacitus  writes  with  such  art  that 
you  are  fascinated  to  read  it  from  beginning  to  end.  He 
holds  you  with  his  glittering  eye. 

The  story  of  Nero  is,  perhaps,  the  part  most  familiar  of  all 
to  the  modern  reader.  This  might  seem  a  reason  for  choosing 
some  other  part,  some  part  more  novel,  to  be  presented  here. 
But  the  evil  tale  of  Nero  is  the  most  familiar,  because  it  is  the 
most  interesting.  We  should  commit  a  mistake,  to  be  de- 
terred from  it  by  that  very  fact  about  it  which  proves  it  the 
most  attractive.  Let  us  then,  undoubtingly,  make  choice  of 
Nero  for  the  hero  of  what  we  draw  here  from  the  Annals  of 


180  CLASSIC  LATIN  COUBSE  IN  ENGLISH. 

Tacitus.  There  will  be  found,  by  intelligent  readers,  a  consid- 
erable compensation  for  the  sense  of  familiarity  experienced, 
in  the  satisfaction  they  will  derive  from  the  consciousness  of 
having  now  to  do  with  an  original  source  of  information  on 
the  subject  treated. 

The  story  of  Nero,  as  told  by  Tacitus,  is  a  long  story.  Let 
us  take  a  plunge  at  once  into  the  midst  of  things.  There  are 
three  associate  personages  of  the  plot,  to  share,  almost  equally 
with  Nero,  the  interest  of  the  reader.  These  three  are  Burrus, 
Seneca,  and,  above  all,  A-grip-pi'na,  the  emperor's  mother. 
Of  A-fra'ni-us  Burrus  and  An-nae'us  Seneca — this  is  the 
famous  philosopher — Tacitus  says  : 

These  two  men  guided  the  emperor's  youth  with  a  unity  of  pur- 
pose seldom  found  where  authority  is  shared,  and  though  their 
accomplishments  were  wholly  different,  they  had  equal  influence. 
Burrus,  with  his  soldier's  discipline  and  severe  manners,  Seneca, 
with  lessons  of  eloquence  and  a  dignified  courtesy,  strove  alike  to 
confine  the  frailty  of  the  prince's  youth,  should  he  loathe  virtue, 
within  allowable  indulgences.  They  had  both  alike  to  struggle 
against  the  domineering  spirit  of  Agrippina. 

One  of  the  earliest  among  the  public  acts  of  the  youthful 
emperor  Nero,  was  to  pronounce  a  funeral  oration  on  his 
predecessor,  Claudius.  Tacitus' s  account  of  this,  with  charac- 
teristic comment  of  his  own  interspersed,  lets  out  some 
secrets  of  Nero's  disposition  and  of  the  current  temper  of  the 
time — not  less,  perhaps,  also,  of  the  historian's  own  individual 
humor  : 

On  the  day  of  the  funeral  the  prince  pronounced  Claudius's 
panegyric,  and  while  he  dwelt  on  the  antiquity  of  his  family  and 
on  the  consulships  and  triumphs  of  his  ancestors,  there  was  enthu- 
siasm "both  in  himself  and  his  audience.  The  praise  of  his  grace- 
ful accomplishments,  and  the  remark  that  during  his  reign  no 
disaster  had  befallen  Rome  from  the  foreigner,  were  heard  with 
favor.  When  the  speaker  passed  on  to  his  foresight  and  wisdom, 
no  one  could  refrain  from  laughter,  though  the  speech,  which  was 
composed  by  Seneca,  exhibited  much  elegance,  as  indeed  that 
famous  man  had  an  attractive  genius  which  suited  the  popular  ear 
of  the  time.  Elderly  men,  who  amuse  their  leisure  with  compar- 


TACITUS.  181 

ing  the  past  and  the  present,  observed  that  Nero  was  the  first 
emperor  who  needed  another  man's  eloquence.  The  dictator 
Caesar  rivaled  the  greatest  orators,  and  Augustus  had  an  easy  and 
fluent  way  of  speaking,  such  as  became  a  sovereign.  Tiberius, 
too,  thoroughly  understood  the  art  of  balancing  words,  and  was 
sometimes  forcible  in  the  expression  of  his  thoughts,  or  else  in- 
tentionally obscure.  Even  Cains  Caesar's  disordered  intellect  did 
not  wholly  mar  his  faculty  of  speech.  Nor  did  Claudius,  when  he 
spoke  with  preparation,  lack  elegance.  Nero  from  early  boyhood 
turned  his  lively  genius  in  other  directions ;  he  carved,  painted, 
sang,  or  practiced  the  management  of  horses,  occasionally  com- 
posing verses  which  showed  that  he  had  the  rudiments  of  learning. 

Nero  began  apparently  well.  He  promised  to  restore  to  the 
senate  something  of  its  ancient  prerogative,  and  Tacitus  says 
he  was  true  to  his  word.  But  the  evil  presiding  spirit  of  his 
mother  resisted  the  young  emperor.  It  is  almost  incredible, 
but,  according  to  Tacitus,  the  senators  used  to  be  summoned 
to  the  imperial  palace  in  order  that  she,  Agrippina,  "  might 
stand  close  to  a  hidden  door  behind  them  screened  by  a  cur- 
tain which  was  enough  to  shut  her  out  of  sight  but  not  out  of 
hearing."  Nero  was  scarcely  more  than  seventeen  years  of 
age.  It  seems  a  cruelty  of  fortune  that,  at  such  an  age,  still 
under  the  tuition  of  such  a  mother,  this  pampered  boy 
should  have  been  forced  into  the  most  dangerous  and  the 
most  conspicuous  position  in  the  world.  The  passions  of  a 
young  man  were  of  course  not  wanting  to  a  young  emperor. 
He  fell  in  love  with  a  freedwoman  and  got  two  fashionable 
young  fellows  to  act  as  his  panders.  What  Tacitus  tells  of 
this,  and  of  Nero's  relation  to  his  mother,  is  fraught  with  sad 
instruction  : 

Without  the  mother's  knowledge,  then  in  spite  of  her  opposition, 
they  [the  two  young  fellows  just  referred  to]  had  crept  into  his 
favor  by  debaucheries  and  equivocal  secrets,  and  even  the  prince's 
older  friends  did  not  thwart  him,  for  here  was  a  girl  who  without 
harm  to  any  one  gratified  his  desires,  when  he  loathed  his  wife 
Octavia,  high  born  as  she  was,  and  of  approved  virtue,  either  from 
some  fatality,  or  because  vice  is  overpoweringly  attractive.  .  . 

Agrippina,  however,  raved  with  a  woman's  fury  about  having  a 


182  CLASSIC  LATIN  COURSE  IN  ENGLISH. 

freedwoman  for  a  rival,  a  slave  girl  for  a  daughter-in-law,  with 
like  expressions.  Nor  would  she  wait  till  her  son  repented  or 
wearied  of  his  passion.  The  fouler  her  reproaches,  the  more 
powerfully  did  they  inflame  him,  till,  completely  mastered  by  the 
strength  of  his  desire,  he  threw  off  all  respect  for  his  mother,  and 
put  himself  under  the  guidance  of  Seneca,  one  of  whose  friends, 
Annseus  Serenus,  had  veiled  the  young  prince's  intrigue  in  its  be- 
ginning by  pretending  to  be  in  love  with  the  same  woman,  and 
had  lent  his  name  as  the  ostensible  giver  of  the  presents  secretly 
sent  by  the  emperor  to  the  girl.  Then  Agrippina,  changing  her 
tactics,  plied  the  lad  with  various  blandishments,  and  even 
offered  the  seclusion  of  her  chamber  for  the  concealment  of  in- 
dulgences which  youth  and  the  highest  rank  might  claim.  She 
went  further ;  she  pleaded  guilty  to  an  ill-timed  strictness,  and 
handed  over  to  him  the  abundance  of  her  wealth,  which  nearly 
approached  the  imperial  treasures,  and  from  having  been  of  late 
extreme  in  her  restraint  of  her  son,  became  now,  on  the  other  hand, 
lax  to  excess.  The  change  did  not  escape  Nero ;  his  most  intimate 
friends  dreaded  it,  and  begged  him  to  beware  of  the  arts  of  a 
woman  who  was  always  daring  and  was  now  false. 

But  mother  and  son  were  equally,  for  both  of  them  were 
supremely,  selfish,  and  they  could  not  be  solidly  reconciled 
with  each  other.  The  breach  between  them  soon  became 
open  and  wide.  The  mother  bethought  herself  of  a  resource 
against  her  son.  There  was  Claudius's  son,  Bri-tan/ni-cus, 
younger  step-brother  to  Nero.  Britannicus  had  the  blood  of  a 
Caesar  in  his  veins.  Nero  was  Agrippina's  son  by  a  former 
husband,  not  by  Claudius.  He  was,  therefore,  not  natural 
heir  to  the  empire.  Tacitus  relates  : 

Agrippina  rushed  into  frightful  menaces,  sparing  not  the  prince's 
ears  her  solemn  protest  "that  Britannicus  was  now  of  full  age, 
he  who  was  the  true  and  worthy  heir  of  his  father's  sovereignty, 
which  a  son,  by  mere  admission  and  adoption,  was  abusing  in 
outrages  on  his  mother.  She  shrank  not  from  an  utter  exposure  of 
the  wickedness  of  that  ill-starred  house,  of  her  own  marriage, 
to  begin  with,  and  of  her  poisoner's  craft.  All  that  the  gods 
and  she  herself  had  taken  care  of  was  that  her  stepson  was  yet 
alive ;  with  him  she  would  go  to  the  camp,  where  on  one  side 
should  be  heard  the  daughter  of  Germanicus ;  on  the  other,  the 
crippled  Burrus  and  the  exile  Seneca,  claiming,  forsooth,  with  dis- 
figured hand,  and  a  pedant's  tongue,  the  government  of  the 


TACITUS.  183 

world."  As  she  spoke,  she  raised  her  hand  in  menace  and  heaped 
insults  on  him,  as  she  appealed  to  the  deifted  Claudius,  to  the 
infernal  shades  of  the  Silani,  and  to  those  many  fruitless  crimes. 

The  "fruitless  crimes"  were  crimes  of  Agrippina's  own 
committing — fruitless,  since  the  obstinacy  of  her  own  boy 
balked  her  of  her  purpose  in  committing  them.  She  had 
meant  to  be  empress  of  the  world.  But  Nero  unexpectedly 
had  developed  a  liking  for  the  game,  as  well  as  the  name, 
of  emperor.  He  now,  stung  by  the  taunts  and  threats  of 
his  mother,  entered  headlong  on  his  unparalleled  career  of 
crime.  Tacitus : 

Nero  was  confounded  at  this,  and  as  the  day  was  near  on  which 
Britannicus  would  complete  his  fourteenth  year,  he  reflected,  now 
on  the  domineering  temper  of  his  mother,  and  now  again  on 
the  character  of  the  young  prince,  which  a  trifling  circumstance 
had  lately  tested,  sufficient  however  to  gain  for  him  wide  popu- 
larity. During  the  feast  of  Saturn,  amid  other  pastimes  of  his 
playmates,  at  a  game  of  lot-drawing  for  king,  the  lot  fell  to  Nero, 
upon  which  he  gave  all  his  other  companions  different  orders,  and 
such  as  would  not  put  them  to  the  blush ;  but  when  he  told  Britan- 
nicua  to  step  forward  and  begin  a  song,  hoping  for  a  laugh  at 
the  expense  of  a  boy  who  knew  nothing  of  sober,  much  less 
of  riotous,  society,  the  lad  Avith  perfect  coolness  commenced  some 
verses  which  hinted  at  his  expulsion  from  his  father's  house 
and  from  supreme  power.  This  procured  him  pity,  which  was  the 
more  conspicuous,  as  night  with  its  merriment  had  stripped  off  all 
disguise.  Nero  saw  the  reproach  and  redoubled  his  hate.  Pressed 
by  Agrippina's  menaces,  having  no  charge  against  his  brother  and 
not  daring  openly  to  order  his  murder,  he  meditated  a  secret  device 
and  directed  poison  to  be  prepared  through  the  agency  of  Julius 
Pollio,  tribune  of  one  of  the  prsetorian  cohorts,  who  had  in  his 
custody  a  woman  under  sentence  for  poisoning,  Locusta  by  name, 
with  a  vast  reputation  for  crime.  That  every  one  about  the  person 
of  Britannicus  should  care  nothing  for  right  or  honor,  had  long  ago 
been  provided  for.  He  actually  received  his  first  dose  of  poison 
from  his  tutors  and  passed  it  off  his  bowels,  as  it  was  either  rather 
weak  or  so  qualified  as  not  at  once  to  prove  deadly.  But  Nero,  im- 
patient at  such  slow  progress  in  crime,  threatened  the  tribune  and 
ordered  the  poisoner  to  execution  for  prolonging  his  anxiety  while 
they  were  thinking  of  the  popular  talk  and  planning  their  own 
defense.  Then  they  promised  that  death  should  be  as  sudden  as  if 


184  CLASSIC  LATIN   COURSE  IN  ENGLISH. 

it  were  the  hurried  work  of  the  dagger,  and  a  rapid  poison  of 
previously  tested  ingredients  was  prepared  close  to  the  emperor's 
chamber. 

It  was  customary  for  the  imperial  princes  to  sit  during  their 
meals  with  other  nobles  of  the  same  age,  in  the  sight  of  their  kins- 
folk, at  a  table  of  their  own,  furnished  somewhat  frugally.  There 
Britannicus  was  dining,  and  as  what  he  ate  and  drank  was  always 
tested  by  the  taste  of  a  select  attendant,  the  following  device 
was  contrived,  that  the  usage  might  not  be  dropped  or  the  crime 
betrayed  by  the  death  of  both  prince  and  attendant.  A  cup  as  yet 
harmless,  but  extremely  hot  and  already  tasted,  was  handed  to 
Britannicus ;  then,  on  his  refusing  it  because  of  its  warmth,  poison 
was  poured  in  with  some  cold  water,  and  this  so  penetrated  his  en- 
tire frame  that  he  lost  alike  voice  and  breath.  There  was  a  stir 
among  the  company;  some,  taken  by  surprise,  ran  hither  and 
thither,  while  those  whose  discernment  was  keener,  remained 
motionless,  with  their  eyes  fixed  on  Nero,  who,  as  he  still  reclined 
in  seeming  unconsciousness,  said  that  this  was  a  common  occur- 
rence, from  a  periodical  epilepsy,  with  which  Britannicus  had  been 
afflicted  from  his  earliest  infancy,  and  that  his  sight  and  senses 
would  gradually  return.  As  for  Agrippina,  her  terror  and  con- 
fusion, though  her  countenance  struggled  to  hide  it,  so  visibly 
appeared,  that  she  was  clearly  just  as  ignorant  as  was  Octavia, 
Britannicus's  own  sister.  She  saw,  in  fact,  that  she  was  robbed  of 
her  only  remaining  refuge,  and  that  here  was  a  precedent  for 
parricide.  Even  Octavia,  notwithstanding  her  youthful  inexperi- 
ence, had  learned  to  hide  her  grief,  her  affection,  and  indeed  every 
emotion.  And  so  after  a  brief  pause  the  company  resumed  its 
mirth. 

"  Of  all  things  human,"  remarks  Tacitus,  "  the  most  preca- 
rious and  transitory  is  a  reputation  for  power  which  has  no 
strong  support  of  its  own."  This  he  says  on  occasion  of 
the  disgrace  of  Agrippina,  whom  her  son  now  sent  away  from 
the  palace  and  deprived  of  her  military  guard.  The  wretched 
woman,  in  her  weakness,  did  not  fail  of  enemies  to  accuse  her 
to  her  son.  One  accusation,  naturally  to  her  son  the  heaviest, 
was  that  she  was  plotting  against  his  emperorship.  A  certain 
Plautus,  so  the  accusation  ran,  was  encouraged  by  Agrippina 
to  pretend  to  the  throne  of  the  Csesars.  Against  him  and  the 
emperor's  mother,  one  Paris  was  found  a  willing  informer. 
Tacitus  now  (let  readers  not  miss  the  indications  incidentally 


TACITUS.  185 

dropped  by  the  historian,  as  to  his  method  in  treating  his 
authorities) : 

Night  was  far  advanced  and  Nero  was  still  sitting  over  his  cups, 
when  Paris  entered,  who  was  generally  wont  at  such  times  to 
heighten  the  emperor's  enjoyments,  but  who  now  wore  a  gloomy 
expression.  He  went  through  the  whole  evidence  in  order,  and  so 
frightened  his  hearer  as  to  make  him  resolve  not  only  on  the 
destruction  of  his  mother  and  of  Plautus,  but  also  on  the  removal 
of  Burrus  from  the  command  of  the  guards,  as  a  man  who 
had  been  promoted  by  Agrippina's  interest,  and  was  now  show- 
ing his  gratitude.  We  have  it  on  the  authority  of  Fabius  Busticus 
that  a  note  was  written  to  Cse-ci'na  Tuscus,  intrusting  to  him 
the  charge  of  the  praetorian  cohorts,  but  that  through  Seneca's 
influence  that  distinguished  post  was  retained  for  Burrus.  Accord- 
ing to  Plinius  and  Cluvius,  no  doubt  was  felt  about  the  com- 
mander's loyalty.  Fabius  certainly  inclines  to  the  praise  of 
Seneca,  through  whose  friendship  he  rose  to  honor.  Proposing  as 
I  do  to  follow  the  consentient  testimony  of  historians,  I  shall  give 
the  differences  in  their  narratives  under  the  writers'  names.  Nero, 
in  his  bewilderment  and  impatience  to  destroy  his  mother,  could 
not  be  put  off  till  Burrus  answered  for  her  death,  should  she  be 
convicted  of  the  crime,  but  "any  one,"  he  said,  "much  more  a 
parent,  must  be  allowed  a  defense.  Accusers  there  were  none 
forthcoming ,  they  had  before  them  only  the  word  of  a  single 
person  from  an  enemy's  house,  and  this  the  night  with  its  darkness 
and  prolonged  festivity  and  every  thing  savoring  of  recklessness 
and  folly,  was  enough  to  refute." 

Having  thus  allayed  the  prince's  fears,  they  went  at  day -break  to 
Agrippina,  that  she  might  know  the  charges  against  her,  and  either 
rebut  them  or  suffer  the  penalty.  Burrus  fulfilled  his  instructions 
in  Seneca's  presence,  and  some  of  the  freedmen  were  present  to 
witness  the  interview.  Then  Burrus,  when  he  had  fully  explained 
the  charges  with  the  authors'  names,  assumed  an  air  of  menace. 
Instantly  Agrippina,  calling  up  all  her  high  spirit,  exclaimed,  "  I 
wonder  not  that  Silana,  who  has  never  borne  offspring,  knows 
nothing  of  a  mother's  feelings.  Parents  do  not  change  their 
children  as  lightly  as  a  shameless  woman  does  her  paramours.  .  .  . 
Only  let  the  man  come  forward  who  can  charge  me  with  having 
tampered  with  the  praetorian  cohorts  in  the  capital,  with  having 
sapped  the  loyalty  of  the  provinces,  or,  in  a  word,  with  having 
bribed  slaves  and  freedmen  into  any  wickedness.  Could  I  have 
lived  with  Britannicus  in  the  possession  of  power?  And  if  Plautus 
or  any  other  were  to  become  master  of  the  State  so  as  to  sit  in 
judgment  on  me,  accusers  forsooth  would  not  be  forthcoming  to 


186  CLASSIC  LATIN  COURSE  IN  ENGLISH. 

charge  me  not  merely  with  a  few  incautious  expressions  prompted 
by  the  eagerness  of  affection,  but  with  guilt  from  which  a  son  alone 
could  absolve  me." 

There  was  profound  excitement  among  those  present,  and  they 
even  tried  to  soothe  her  agitation,  but  she  insisted  on  an  interview 
with  her  son.  Then,  instead  of  pleading  her  innocence,  as  though 
she  lacked  confidence,  or  her  claims  on  him  by  way  of  reproach, 
she  obtained  vengeance  on  her  accusers  and  rewards  for  her  friends. 

Agrippina  enjoyed  her  momentary  triumph.  But  her  dread- 
ful doom  was  only  postponed. 

Nero  was  well  on  the  downward  road.  Facilis  descemus, 
and  the  rate  of  descent  already  was  swift.  Read  the  record 
(remember  that  still  there  was  the  titular  consulship,  and  that 
still,  as  of  old,  the  years  of  the  empire  were  reckoned  by 
the  names  of  the  consuls) : 

In  the  consulship  of  Quintus  Vo-lu'si-us  and  Publius  Scipio, 
there  was  peace  abroad,  but  a  disgusting  licentiousness  at  home  on 
the  part  of  Nero,  who  in  a  slave's  disguise,  so  as  to  be  unrecog- 
nized, would  wrander  through  the  streets  of  Rome,  to  brothels  and 
taverns,  with  comrades,  who  seized  on  goods  exposed  for  sale 
and  inflicted  wrounds  on  any  whom  they  encountered,  some  of 
these  last  knowing  him  so  little  that  he  even  received  blows 
himself  and  showed  the  marks  of  them  in  his  face.  When  it 
was  notorious  that  the  emperor  was  the  assailant,  and  the  insults 
on  men  and  women  of  distinction  were  multiplied,  other  persons, 
too,  on  the  strength  of  a  license  once  granted  under  Nero's  name, 
ventured  with  impunity  on  the  same  practices,  and  had  gangs 
of  their  own,  till  night  presented  the  scenes  of  a  captured  city. 

Julius  Mon-ta'nus,  a  senator,  but  one  who  had  not  yet  held 
any  office,  happened  to  encounter  the  prince  in  the  darkness, 
and  because  hje  fiercely  repulsed  his  attack  and  then  on  recog- 
nizing him  begged  for  mercy,  as  though  this  was  a  reproach, 
was  forced  to  destroy  himself.  Nero  was  for  the  future  more 
timid,  and  surrounded  himself  with  soldiers  and  a  number  of 
gladiators,  who,  when  a  fray  began  on  a  small  scale  and  seemed  a 
private  affair,  were  to  let  it  alone,  but,  if  the  injured  persons 
resisted  stoutly,  they  rushed  in  with  their  swords. 

"Was  forced  to  destroy  himself."  Compulsory  suicide 
became  the  favorite  form  of  executing  a  capital  sentence 
issuing  from  the  arbitrary  will  of  the  emperor.  Tacitus  is 


TACITUS.  187 

full  of  instances  which  vary  the  monotony  of  imperial  murder 
with  every  conceivable  permutation  of  incident.  Pathetically 
instructive  it  is,  to  come,  as  one  glances  along  these  pages 
dense  with  tragedy,  upon  occasional  sentences  like  the  follow- 
ing :  "  Still  there  yet  remained  some  shadow  of  a  free  State." 
Again,  disdaining  to  do  more  than  merely  mention  the  erec- 
tion of  a  great  amphitheater,  Tacitus  says:  "We  have 
learned  that  it  suits  the  dignity  of  the  Boman  people  to  re- 
serve history  for  great  achievements,  and  to  leave  such  details 
to  the  city's  daily  register."  Such  expressions  as  the  preceding 
from  Tacitus  strikingly  reveal  the  character  of  their  author. 

The  climax  of  Nero's  wickedness,  as  the  general  opinion 
rates  it,  was  his  conspiracy  to  murder  his  mother.  This 
crime  is  now  near  at  hand.  A  woman  was  the  immediate 
cause.  That  woman  was  the  infamous  Pop-pse'a.  Let  Taci- 
tus sketch  her  for  us  : 

Poppsea  had  everything  but  a  right  mind.  Her  mother,  who 
surpassed  in  personal  attractions  all  the  ladies  of  her  day,  had 
bequeathed  to  her  alike  fame  and  beauty.  Her  fortune  adequately 
corresponded  to  the  nobility  of  her  descent.  Her  conversation  was 
charming  and  her  wit  anything  but  dull.  She  professed  virtue, 
while  she  practiced  laxity.  Seldom  did  she  appear  in  public,  and  it 
was  always  with  her  face  partly  veiled,  either  to  disappoint  men's 
gaze  or  to  set  off  her  beauty.  Her  character  she  never  spared, 
making  no  distinction  between  a  husband  and  a  paramour,  while 
she  was  never  a  slave  to  her  own  passion  or  to  that  of  her  lover. 
Wherever  there  was  a  prospect  of  advantage,  there  she  transferred 
her  favors. 

Poppsea  was  married  and  had  a  son,  but  this  did  not  prevent 
her  intriguing,  and  intriguing  successfully,  for  the  hand  of 
Otho,  that  favorite  of  Nero's.  She  now  had  what  she  needed 
in  order  to  get  what  she  wanted,  which  was — power  over 
Nero.  Through  Otho,  used  as  tool  or  as  accomplice,  she  got 
access  to  the  emperor.  Her  shameless  arts  of  seduction,  and 
her  cool  triangulation  toward  her  object,  are  thus  described 
by  Tacitus  : 


188  CLASSIC  LATIN  COURSE  IN  ENGLISH. 

Poppsea  won  her  way  by  artful  blandishments,  pretending 
that  she  could  not  resist  her  passion  and  that  she  was  captivated 
by  Nero's  person.  Soon  as  the  emperor's  love  grew  ardent  she 
would  change  and  be  supercilious,  and  [artfully  tantalizing  her  in- 
fatuated imperial  lover]  would  say  again  and  again  that  she  was  a 
married  woman  and  could  not  give  up  her  husband,  attached  as 
she  was  to  Otho  by  a  manner  of  life  which  no  one  equaled.  "  His 
ideas  and  his  style  were  grand ;  at  his  house  everything  worthy  of 
the  highest  fortune  was  ever  before  her  eyes.  Nero,  on  the  con- 
trary, with  his  slave-girl  mistress,  tied  down  by  his  attachment  to 
Acte,  had  derived  nothing  from  his  slavish  associations  but  what 
was  low  and  degrading." 

The  historian,  with  judicial  impartiality,  makes  commenda- 
tory notes  of  certain  equitable  measures  adopted  by  Nero  for 
the  administration  of  the  empire,  adding  that  they  "  for  a 
short  time  were  maintained  and  were  subsequently  dis- 
regarded." It  seems  to  have  been  Tacitus's  feeling  that 
Nero  should  have — he  certainly  needed — all  the  credit  that 
belonged  to  good  attempts  on  his  part,  of  any  kind,  how- 
ever momentary. 

The  fourteenth  book  of  the  Annals  covers  a  period  of  three 
years,  from  59  A.  D.  to  62.  The  beginning  of  the  book  is 
occupied  with  narration  and  description  too  absorbingly  inter- 
esting to  be  much  abridged  or  interrupted.  We  transfer  a 
long  passage,  which  will  not  seem  long,  to  these  pages.  (We 
need  to  forewarn  readers  that  here,  as  occasionally  elsewhere 
in  Tacitus,  they  will  come  upon  things  said  and  suggested 
by  the  historian  which,  for  an  exercise  of  reading  aloud  in 
a  mixed  company,  would  require  to  be  touched  upon  very 
lightly.  Such  things  we  should  gladly  have  omitted  ;  but  we 
could  not,  omitting  them  altogether,  even  hint,  adequately, 
what  Tacitus  is,  and  what  is  the  dreadful  story  that  Tacitus 
had  it  for  his  mission  to  tell.  It  will  be  noted  that  he 
always  describes  vice  after  the  manner  of  a  man  strongly 
siding  with  virtue.) 

In  the  year  of  the  consulship  of  Caius  Vip-sta'nua  and  Caius 


TACITUS.  189 

Fon-te'i-us,  Nero  deferred  no  more  a  long-meditated  crime. 
Length  of  power  had  matured  his  daring,  and  his  passion  for 
Poppsea  daily  grew  more  ardent.  As  the  woman  had  no  hope 
of  marriage  for  herself  or  of  Octavia's  divorce  while  Agrippina 
lived,  she  would  reproach  the  emperor  with  incessant  vituperation 
and  sometimes  call  him  in  jest  a  mere  ward  who  was  under 
the  rule  of  others,  and  was  so  far  from  having  empire  that  he 
had  not  even  his  liberty.  "  Why,"  she  asked,  "  was  her  marriage 
put  off?  Was  it,  forsooth,  her  beauty  and  her  ancestors,  with  their 
triumphal  honors,  that  failed  to  please ;  or  her  being  a  mother,  and 
her  sincere  heart  ?  No ;  the  fear  was  that  as  a  wife  at  least  she 
would  divulge  the  wrongs  of  the  Senate,  and  the  wrath  of  the 
people  at  the  arrogance  and  rapacity  of  his  mother.  If  the  only 
daughter-in-law  Agrippina  could  bear  was  one  who  wished  evil  to 
her  son,  let  her  be  restored  to  her  union  with  Otho.  She  would  go 
anywhere  in  the  world,  where  she  might  hear  of  the  insults  heaped 
on  the  emperor,  rather  than  witness  them,  and  be  also  involved  in 
his  perils." 

These  and  the  like  complaints,  rendered  impressive  by  tears  and 
by  the  cunning  of  an  adulteress,  no  one  checked,  as  all  longed 
to  see  the  mother's  power  broken,  while  not  a  person  believed  that 
the  son's  hatred  would  steel  his  heart  to  her  murder. 

Cluvius  relates  that  Agrippina  in  her  eagerness  to  retain  her 
influence  went  so  far  that  more  than  once  at  midday,  when  Nero, 
even  at  that  hour,  was  flushed  with  wine  and  feasting,  she  pre- 
sented herself  attractively  attired  to  her  half-intoxicated  son.  .  .  . 
When  kinsfolk  observed  wanton  kisses  and  caresses,  portending  in- 
famy, it  was  Seneca  who  sought  a  female's  aid  against  a  woman's 
fascinations,  and  hurried  in  Acte,  the  freed-girl,  who  alarmed  at 
her  own  peril,  and  at  Nero's  disgrace,  told  him  that  the  incest  was 
notorious,  as  his  mother  boasted  of  it,  and  that  the  soldiers  would 
never  endure  the  rule  of  an  impious  sovereign.  Fabius  Rusticus 
tells  us  that  it  was  not  Agrippina,  but  Nero  who  lusted  for  the 
crime,  and  that  it  was  frustrated  by  the  adroitness  of  that  same 
freed-girl.  Cluvius' s  account,  however,  is  also  that  of  all  other 
authors,  and  popular  belief  inclines  to  it,  whether  it  was  that 
Agrippina  really  conceived  such  a  monstrous  wickedness  in  her 
heart,  or  perhaps  because  the  thought  of  a  strange  passion  seemed 
comparatively  credible  in  a  woman,  who  in  her  girlish  years  had 
allowed  herself  to  be  seduced  by  Lepidus  in  the  hope  of  winning 
power,  had  stooped  with  a  like  ambition  to  the  lust  of  Pallas,  and 
had  trained  herself  for  every  infamy  by  her  marriage  with  her 
uncle. 

Nero  accordingly  avoided  secret  interviews  with  her,  and  when 
she  withdrew  to  her  gardens  or  to  her  estates  at  Tusculum  and  An- 


190  CLASSIC  LATIN  COURSE  IN  ENGLISH. 

tium,  he  praised  her  for  courting  repose.  At  last,  convinced  that 
she  would  be  too  formidable,  wherever  she  might  dwell,  he  re- 
solved to  destroy  her,  merely  deliberating  whether  it  was  to  be 
accomplished  by  poison,  or  by  the  sword,  or  by  any  x>ther  violent 
means.  Poison  at  first  seemed  best,  but,  were  it  to  be  administered 
at  the  imperial  table,  the  result  could  not  be  referred  to  chance 
after  the  recent  circumstances  of  the  death  of  Britannicus.  Again, 
to  tamper  with  the  servants  of  a  woman  who,  from  her  familiarity 
with  crime,  was  on  her  guard  against  treachery,  appeared  to  be  ex- 
tremely difficult,  and  then,  too,  she  had  fortified  her  constitution 
by  the  use  of  antidotes.  How  again  the  dagger  and  its  work  were 
to  be  kept  secret,  no  one  could  suggest,  and  it  was  feared  too 
that  whoever  might  be  chosen  to  execute  such  a  crime  would 
spurn  the  order. 

An  ingenious  suggestion  was  offered  by  An-i-ce'tus,  a  freedman, 
commander  of  the  fleet  at  Mi-se'num,  who  had  been  tutor  to  Nero 
in  boyhood  and  had  a  hatred  of  Agrippina  which  she  reciprocated. 
He  explained  that  a  vessel  could  be  constructed,  from  which  a  part 
might  by  a  contrivance  be  detached,  when  out  at  sea,  so  as  to 
plunge  her  unawares  into  the  water.  "Nothing,"  he  said,  "al- 
lowed of  accidents  so  much  as  the  sea,  and  should  she  be  overtaken 
by  shipwreck,  who  would  be  so  unfair  as  to  impute  to  crime  an 
offense  committed  by  the  winds  and  waves  ?  The  emperor  would 
add  the  honor  of  a  temple  and  of  shrines  to  the  deceased  lady, 
with  every  other  display  of  filial  affection." 

Nero  liked  the  device,  favored  as  it  also  was  by  the  particular 
time,  for  he  was  celebrating  Minerva's  five  days'  festival  at  Bai'se. 
Thither  he  enticed  his  mother  by  repeated  assurances  that  children 
ought  to  bear  with  the  irritability  of  parents  and  to  soothe  their 
tempers,  wishing  thus  to  spread  a  rumor  of  reconciliation  and 
to  secure  Agrippina' s  acceptance  through  the  feminine  credulity, 
which  easily  believes  what  gives  joy.  As  she  approached,  he  went 
to  the  shore  to  meet  her  (she  was  coming  from  Antium),  welcomed 
her  with  outstretched  hand  and  embrace,  and  conducted  her  to 
Bauli.  This  was  the  name  of  a  country  house,  washed  by  a  bay  of 
the  sea,  between  the  promontory  of  Misenum  and  the  lake  of  Baise. 
Here  was  a  vessel  distinguished  from  others  by  its  equipment, 
seemingly  meant,  among  other  things,  to  do  honor  to  his  mother ; 
for  she  had  been  accustomed  to  sail  in  a  trireme,  with  a  crew 
of  marines.  And  now  she  was  invited  to  a  banquet,  that  night 
might  serve  to  conceal  the  crime.  It  was  well  known  that  some- 
body had  been  found  to  betray  it,  that  Agrippina  had  heard  of  the 
plot,  and  in  doubt  whether  she  was  to  believe  it,  was  conveyed 
to  Baise  in  her  litter.  There  some  soothing  words  allayed  her  fear ; 
she  was  graciously  received,  and  seated  at  table  above  the  emperor. 


TACITUS.  191 

Nero  prolonged  the  banquet  with  various  conversation,  passing  from 
a  youth's  playful  familiarity  to  an  air  of  constraint,  which  seemed  to 
indicate  serious  thought,  and  then,  after  protracted  festivity,  escorted 
her  on  her  departure,  clinging  with  kisses  to  her  eyes  and  bosom, 
either  to  crown  his  hypocrisy  or  because  the  last  sight  of  a  mother  on 
the  eve  of  destruction  caused  a  lingering  even  in  that  brutal  heart. 

A  night  of  brilliant  starlight  with  the  calm  of  a  tranquil  sea  was 
granted  by  heaven,  seemingly,  to  convict  the  crime.  The  vessel 
had  not  gone  far,  Agrippina  having  with  her  two  of  her  intimate 
attendants,  one  of  whom,  Cre-pe-re'ius  Gallus,  stood  near  the 
helm,  while  A-cer-ro'ni-a,  reclining  at  Agrippina's  feet  as  she 
reposed  herself,  spoke  joyfully  of  her  son's  repentance  and  of  the 
recovery  of  the  mother's  influence,  when  at  a  given  signal  the  ceil- 
ing of  the  place,  which  was  loaded  with  a  quantity  of  lead,  fell  in, 
and  Crepereius  was  crushed  and  instantly  killed.  Agrippina  and 
Acerronia  were  protected  by  the  projecting  sides  of  the  couch, 
which  happened  to  be  too  strong  to  yield  under  the  weight.  But 
this  was  not  followed  by  the  breaking  up  of  the  vessel ;  for  all 
were  bewildered,  and  those  too,  who  were  in  the  plot,  were 
hindered  by  the  unconscious  majority.  The  crew  then  thought 
it  best  to  throw  the  vessel  on  one  side  and  so  sink  it,  but  they  could 
not  themselves  promptly  unite  to  face  the  emergency,  and  others, 
by  counteracting  the  attempt,  gave  an  opportunity  of  a  gentler  fall 
into  the  sea.  Acerronia,  however,  thoughtlessly  exclaiming  that 
she  was  Agrippina,  and  imploring  help  for  the  emperor's  mother, 
was  dispatched  with  poles  and  oars,  and  such  naval  implements  as 
chance  offered.  Agrippina  was  silent  and  was  thus  the  less  recog- 
nized; still,  she  reserved  a  wound  in  her  shoulder.  She  swam, 
then  met  with  some  small  boats  which  conveyed-her  to  the  Lucrine 
lake,  and  so  entered  her  house. 

There  she  reflected  how  for  this  very  purpose  she  had  been 
invited  by  a  lying  letter  and  treated  with  conspicuous  honor,  how 
also  it  was  near  the  shore,  not  from  being  driven  by  winds  or 
dashed  on  rocks,  that  the  vessel  had  in  its  upper  part  collapsed, 
like  a  mechanism  anything  but  nautical.  She  pondered  too  the 
death  of  Acerronia ;  she  looked  at  her  own  wound,  and  saw  that 
her  only  safeguard  against  treachery  was  to  ignore  it.  Then  she 
sent  her  freedman  A-ger-i'nus  to  tell  her  son  how  by  heaven's 
favor  and  his  good  fortune  she  had  escaped  a  terrible  disaster ;  that 
she  begged  him,  alarmed,  as  he  might  be,  by  his  mother's  peril,  to 
put  off  the  duty  of  a  visit,  as  for  the  present  she  needed  repose. 
Meanwhile,  pretending  that  she  felt  secure,  she  applied  remedies  to 
her  wound,  and  fomentations  to  her  person.  She  then  ordered 
search  to  be  made  for  the  will  of  Acerronia,  and  her  property  to  be 
sealed,  in  this  alone  throwing  off  disguise. 


192  CLASSIC  LATIN  COURSE  IN  ENGLISH. 

Nero,  meantime,  as  he  waited  for  tidings  of  the  consummation 
of  the  deed,  received  information  that  she  had  escaped  with  the 
injury  of  a  slight  wound,  after  having  so  far  encountered  the 
peril  that  there  could  be  no  question  as  to  its  author.  Then,  par- 
alyzed with  terror  and  protesting  that  she  would  show  herself  the 
next  moment  eager  for  vengeance,  either  arming  the  slaves  or 
stirring  up  the  soldiery,  or  hastening  to  the  senate  and  the  people, 
to  charge  him  with  the  wreck,  with  her  wound,  and  with  the  de- 
struction of  her  friends,  he  asked  what  resource  he  had  against  all 
this,  unless  something  could  be  at  once  devised  by  Burrus  and 
Seneca.  He  had  instantly  summoned  both  of  them,  and  possibly 
they  were  already  in  the  secret.  There  was  a  long  silence  on  their 
part ;  they  feared  they  might  remonstrate  in  vain,  or  believed  the 
crisis  to  be  such  that  Nero  must  perish,  unless  Agrippina  were  at 
once  crushed.  Thereupon  Seneca  was  so  far  the  more  prompt  as  to 
glance  back  on  Burrus,  as  if  to  ask  him  whether  the  bloody  deed 
must  be  required  of  the  soldiers.  Burrus  replied  "that  the  prae- 
torians were  attached  to  the  whole  family  of  the  Caesars,  and  re- 
membering Ger-man'i-cus  would  not  dare  a  savage  deed  on  his 
offspring.  It  was  for  Anicetus  to  accomplish  his  promise." 

Anicetus,  without  a  pause,  claimed  for  himself  the  consumma- 
tion of  the  crime.  At  those  words,  Nero  declared  that  that  day 
gave  him  empire,  and  that  a  freedman  was  the  author  of  this 
mighty  boon.  "Go,"  he  said,  "with  all  speed  and  take  with  you 
the  men  readiest  to  execute  your  orders."  He  himself,  when  he  had 
heard  of  the  arrival  of  Agrippina's  messenger,  Agerinus,  contrived 
a  theatrical  mode  of  accusation,  and,  while  the  man  was  repeating 
his  message,  threw  down  a  sword  at  his  feet,  then  ordered  him  to 
be  put  in  irons,  as*  a  detected  criminal,  so  that  he  might  invent  a 
story  how  his  mother  had  plotted  the  emperor's  destruction ;  and 
in  the  shame  of  discovered  guilt  had,  by  her  own  choice,  sought 
death. 

Meantime,  Agrippina's  peril  being  universally  known  and  taken 
to  be  an  accidental  occurrence,  everybody,  the  moment  he  heard 
of  it,  hurried  down  to  the  beach.  Some  climbed  projecting  piers ; 
some  the  nearest  vessels ;  some,  again,  stood  with  outstretched 
arms,  while  the  whole  shore  rung  with  wailings,  with  prayers  and 
cries,  as  different  questions  were  asked  and  uncertain  answers 
given.  A  vast  multitude  streamed  to  the  spot  with  torches,  and  as 
soon  as  all  knew  that  she  was  safe  they  at  once  prepared  to  wish 
her  joy,  till  the  sight  of  an  armed  and  threatening  force  scared 
them  away.  Anicetus  then  surrounded  the  house  with  a  guard, 
and  having  burst  open  the  gates,  dragged  off  the  slaves  who  met  him, 
till  he  came  to  the  door  of  her  chamber,  where  a  few  still  stood, 
after  the  rest  had  fled  in  terror  at  the  attack.  A  small  lamp  was 


TACITUS.  193 

in  the  room,  and  one  slave-girl  with  Agrippina,  who  grew  more 
and  more  anxious,  as  no  messenger  came  from  her  son,  not  even 
Agerinus,  while  the  appearance  of  the  shore  was  changed,  a  solitude 
one  moment,  then  sudden  bustle  and  tokens  of  the  worst  catastro- 
phe. As  the  girl  rose  to  depart,  she  exclaimed,  "  Do  you,  too,  for- 
sake me?"  and  looking  round  saw  Anicetus,  who  had  with  him  the 
captain  of  the  trireme,  Her-cu-le'ius,  and  O-bar'i-tus,  a  centurion 
of  marines.  "  If,"  said  she,  "you  have  come  to  see  me,  take  back 
word  that  I  have  recovered,  but  if  you  are  here  to  do  a  crime,  I 
believe  nothing  about  my  son;  he  has  not  ordered  his  mother's 
murder." 

The  assassins  closed  in  round  her  couch,  and  the  captain  of  the 
trireme  first  struck  her  head  violently  with  a  club.  Then,  as  the 
centurion  bared  his  sword  for  the  fatal  deed,  presenting  her  person, 
she  exclaimed,  "Smite  my  womb,"  and  with  many  wounds  she 
was  slain.  .  .  . 

But  the  emperor,  when  the  crime  was  at  last  accomplished,  re- 
alized its  portentous  guilt.  The  rest  of  the  night,  now  silent  and 
stupefied,  now  and  still  oftener  starting  up  in  terror,  bereft  of 
reason,  he  awaited  the  dawn  as  if  it  would  bring  with  it  his  doom. 
He  was  first  encouraged  to  hope  by  the  flattery  addressed  to  him, 
at  the  prompting  of  Burrus,  by  the  centurions  and  tribunes,  who 
again  and  again  pressed  his  hand  and  congratulated  him  on  his 
having  escaped  an  unforeseen  danger  and  his  mother's  daring 
crime.  Then  his  friends  went  to  the  temples,  and,  an  example 
having  once  been  set,  the  neighboring  towns  of  Campania  testified 
their  joy  with  sacrifices  and  deputations.  He  himself,  with  an  ap- 
posite phase  of  hypocrisy,  seemed  sad,  and  almost  angry,  at  his 
own  deliverance,  and  shed  tears  over  his  mother's  death.  But 
as  the  aspects  of  places  change  not,  as  do  the  looks  of  men,  and  as 
he  had  ever  before  his  eyes  the  dreadful  sight  of  that  sea  with 
its  shores  (some,  too,  believed  that  the  notes  of  a  funeral  trumpet 
were  heard  from  the  surrounding  heights,  and  wailings  from  the 
mother's  grave),  he  retired  to  Neapolis,  and  sent  a  letter  to  the 
Senate,  the  drift,  of  which  was  that  Agerinus,  one  of  Agrippina's 
confidential  freedmen,  had  been  detected  with  the  dagger  of  an  as- 
sassin, and  that  in  the  consciousness  of  having  planned  the  crime 
she  had  paid  its  penalty. 

He  even  revived  the  charges  of  a  period  long  past,  how  she 
had  aimed  at  a  share  of  empire,  and  at  inducing  the  praetorian 
cohorts  to  swear  obedience  to  a  woman,  to  the  disgrace  of  the 
Senate  and  people ;  how,  when  she  was  disappointed,  in  her  fury 
with  the  soldiers,  the  Senate,  and  the  populace,  she  opposed  the 
usual  donative  and  largess,  and  organized  perilous  prosecutions 
against  distinguished  citizens.  What  efforts  had  it  cost  him  to 


194  CLASSIC  LATIN  COURSE  IN  ENGLISH. 

hinder  her  from  bursting  into  the  Senate-house  and  giving  answers 
to  foreign  nations!  He  glanced,  too,  with  indirect  censure  at 
the  days  of  Claudius,  and  ascribed  all  the  abominations  of  that 
reign  to  his  mother,  thus  seeking  to  show  that  it  was  the  State's 
good  fortune  which  had  destroyed  her.  For  he  actually  told  the 
story  of  the  shipwreck ;  but  who  could  be  so  stupid  as  to  believe 
that  it  was  accidental,  or  that  a  shipwrecked  woman  had  sent  one 
man  with  a  weapon  to  break  through  an  emperor's  guards  and 
fleets  ?  So  now  it  was  not  Nero,  whose  brutality  was  far  beyond 
any  remonstrance,  but  Seneca,  who  was  in  ill-repute,  for  having 
written  a  confession  in  such  a  style. 

Still  there  was  a  marvelous  rivalry  among  the  nobles  in  de- 
creeing thanksgivings  at  all  the  shrines,  and  the  celebration 
with  annual  'games  of  Minerva's  festival,  as  the  day  on  which 
the  plot  had  been  discovered;  also,  that  a  golden  image  of 
Minerva,  with  a  statue  of  the  emperor  by  its  side,  should  be  set 
up  in  the  Senate-house,  and  that  Agrippina's  birthday  should  be 
classed  among  the  inauspicious  days.  Thrasea  Psetus,  who  had 
been  used  to  pass  over  previous  flatteries  in  silence  or  with 
brief  assent,  then  walked  out  of  the  Senate,  thereby  imperiling 
himself,  without  communicating  to  the  other  senators  any  impulse 
toward  freedom. 

Can  anything  be  conceived  of  more  incredible  than  such 
wickedness  as  Nero's?  Yes.  The  baseness  exhibited  in 
view  of  Nero's  wickedness,  by  the  senate,  and  by  the  people 
of  Rome,  was  more  incredible  still.  Tacitus : 

While  Nero  was  lingering  in  the  towns  of  Campania,  doubting 
how  he  should  enter  Rome,  whether  he  would  find  the  Senate  sub- 
missive and  the  populace  enthusiastic,  all  the  vilest  courtiers,  and 
of  these  never  had  a  court  a  more  abundant  crop,  argued  against 
his  hesitation,  by  assuring  him  that  Agrippina's  name  was  hated, 
and  that  her  death  had  heightened  his  popularity.  "  He  might 
go  without  a  fear,"  they  said,  "  and  experience  in  his  person  men's 
veneration  for  him."  They  insisted  at  the  same  time  on  preceding 
him.  They  found  greater  enthusiasm  than  they  had  promised,  the 
tribes  coming  forth  to  meet  him,  the  Senate  in  holiday  attire, 
troops  of  their  children  and  wives  arranged  according  to  sex 
and  age,  tiers  of  seats  raised  for  the  spectacle,  where  he  was  to  pass, 
as  a  triumph  is  witnessed.  Thus  elated  and  exulting  over  his 
people's  slavery,  he  proceeded  to  the  Capitol,  performed  the 
thanksgiving,  and  then  plunged  into  all  the  excesses,  which, 
though  ill-restrained,  some  sort  of  respect  for  his  mother  had  for 
awhile  delayed. 


TACITUS.  195 

"Some  sort  of  respect  for  his  mother"  !  There  follows 
immediately  now  from  the  hand  of  Tacitus  as  dreadful  a 
picture  of  omnipotent  and  frolicsome  despotism  as  ever  was 
drawn.  It  is  almost  an  adequate  punishment  of  the  infamy, 
to  have  the  infamy  thus  pitilessly  damned  to  everlasting 
contempt : 

He  had  long  had  a  fancy  for  driving  a  four-horse  chariot,  and  a  no 
less  degrading  taste  for  singing  to  the  harp,  in  a  theatrical  fashion, 
when  he  was  at  dinner.  This  he  would  remind  people  was  a  royal 
custom,  and  had  been  the  practice  of  ancient  chiefs ;  it  was 
celebrated  too  in  the  praises  of  poets  and  was  meant  to  show  honor 
to  the  gods.  Songs,  indeed,  he  said,  were  sacred  to  Apollo,  and 
it  was  in  the  dress  of  a  singer  that  that  great  and  prophetic 
deity  was  seen  in  Roman  temples  as  well  as  in  Greek  cities.  He 
could  no  longer  be  restrained,  when  Seneca  and  Burrus  thought  it 
best  to  concede  one  point  that  he  might  not  persist  in  both.  A 
space  was  inclosed  in  the  Vatican  valley  where  he  might 
manage  his  horses,  without  the  spectacle  being  public.  Soon  he 
actually  invited  all  the  people  of  Rome,  who  extolled  him  in  their 
praises,  like  a  mob  which  craves  for  amusements  and  rejoices 
when  a  prince  draws  them  the  same  way.  However,  the  public 
exposure  of  his  shame  acted  on  him  as  an  incentive  instead  of  sick- 
ening him,  as  men  expected.  Imagining  that  he  mitigated  the 
scandal  by  disgracing  many  others,  he  brought  on  the  stage  de- 
scendants of  noble  families,  who  sold  themselves,  because  they 
were  paupers.  As  they  have  ended  their  days,  I  think  it  due 
to  their  ancestors  not  to  hand  down  their  names.  And  indeed  the 
infamy  is  his  who  gave  them  wealth  to  reward  their  degradation 
rather  than  to  deter  them  from  degrading  themselves.  He  pre- 
vailed too  on  some  well-known  Roman  knights,  by  immense 
presents,  to  offer  their  services  in  the  amphitheater ;  only  pay 
from  one  who  is  able  to  command  carries  with  it  the  force  of 
compulsion. 

Still,  not  yet  wishing  to  disgrace  himself  on  a  public  stage,  he  in- 
stituted some  games  under  the  title  of  "juvenile  sports,"  for  which 
people  of  every  class  gave  in  their  names.  Neither  rank  nor 
age  nor  previous  high  promotion  hindered  any  one  from  practicing 
the  art  of  a  Greek  or  Latin  actor,  and  even  stooping  to  gestures  and 
songs  unfit  for  a  man.  Noble  ladies  too  actually  played  disgusting 
parts,  and  in  the  grove,  with  which  Augustus  had  surrounded  the 
lake  for  the  naval  fight,  there  were  erected  places  for  meeting  and 
refreshment,  and  every  incentive  to  excess  was  offered  for  sale. 


196  CLASSIC  LATIN  COURSE  IN  ENGLISH. 

Money,  too,  was  distributed,  which  the  respectable  had  to  spend 
under  sheer  compulsion  and  which  the  profligate  gloried  in 
squandering.  Hence  a  rank  growth  of  abomination  and  of  all 
infamy.  Never  did  a  more  filthy  rabble  add  a  worse  licentiousness 
to  our  long  corrupted  morals.  Even  with  virtuous  training,  purity 
is  not  easily  upheld ;  far  less  amid  rivalries  in  vice  could  modesty 
or  propriety  or  any  trace  of  good  manners  be  preserved.  Last 
of  all,  the  emperor  himself  came  on  the  stage,  tuning  his  lute 
with  elaborate  care  and  trying  his  voice  with  his  attendants. 
There  were  also  present,  to  complete  the  show,  a  guard  of  soldiers 
with  centurions  and  tribunes,  and  Burrus,  who  grieved  and  yet 
applauded.  Then  it  was  that  Roman  knights  were  first  enrolled 
under  the  title  of  Augustani,  men  in  their  prime  and  remarkable 
for  their  strength,  some  from  a  natural  frivolity,  others  from  the 
hope  of  promotion.  Day  and  night  they  kept  up  a  thunder  of 
applause,  and  applied  to  the  emperor's  person  and  voice  the 
epithets  of  deities.  Thus  they  lived  in  fame  and  honor,  as  if  on  the 
strength  of  their  merits. 

Nero,  however,  that  he  might  not  be  known  only  for  his  accom- 
plishments as  an  actor,  also  affected  a  taste  for  poetry,  and  drew 
round  him  persons  who  had  some  skill  in  such  compositions,  but 
not  yet  generally  recognized.  They  used  to  sit  with  him,  stringing 
together  verses  prepared  at  home,  or  extemporized  on  the  spot,  and 
fill  up  his  own  expressions,  such  as  they  were,  just  as  he  threw 
them  off.  This  is  plainly  shown  by  the  very  character  of  the 
poems,  which  have  no  vigor  or  inspiration,  or  unity  in  their  flow. 

He  would  also  bestow  some  leisure  after  his  banquets  on  the 
teachers  of  philosophy,  for  he  enjoyed  the  wrangles  of  opposing 
dogmatists.  And  some  there  were  who  liked  to  exhibit  their 
gloomy  faces  and  looks,,  as  one  of  the  amusements  of  the  court. 

It  is  some  relief  to  the  long  monotony  of  shame  which 
draws  out  in  Tacitus  the  story  of  Nero,  to  read  of  distant  wars 
and  expeditions  that  meanwhile  continued  the  great  career  of 
the  empire.  Cor/bu-lo  is  a  Roman  general,  destined  to  a 
tragical  end,  who,  till  near  the  close  of  Nero's  reign,  figured 
conspicuously  as  conqueror  in  the  East.  We  have  here  no 
room  for  more  than  this  mere  mention  of  Corbulo's  name. 
The  name  of  London,  scarcely  disguised  as  Londinium, 
catches  the  eye.  The  place  is  spoken  of  as  "much  frequented 
by  a  number  of  merchants  and  trading  vessels."  Little  did 
the  Roman'historian  dream  that,  one  day,  his  history  would 


TACITUS.  197 

be  read  by  Londoners  who  could  justly  claim  that  their  town 
was  a  city  greater  than  Eome  at  its  height  ever  was.  The 
British  queen,  Bo-a-di-ce'a,  careers  for  a  moment  into  the 
pages  of  Tacitus : 

Boadicea,  with  her  daughters  before  her  in  a  chariot,  went  up  to 
tribe  after  tribe,  protesting  that  it  was  indeed  usual  for  Britons  to 
fight  under  the  leadership  of  women.  "  But  now,"  she  said,  "  it  is 
not  as  a  woman  descended  from  noble  ancestry,  but  as  one  of  the 
people,  that  I  am  avenging  lost  freedom,  my  scourged  body,  the 
outraged  chastity  of  my  daughters.  Roman  lust  has  gone  so  far 
that  not  our  very  persons,  nor  even  age  or  virginity,  are  left  un- 
polluted. But  heaven  is  on  the  side  of  a  righteous  vengeance ;  a 
legion  which  dared  to  fight  has  perished ;  the  rest  are  hiding  them- 
selves in  their  camp,  or  are  thinking  anxiously  of  flight.  They 
will  not  sustain  even  the  din  and  the  shout  of  so  many  thousands, 
much  less  our  charge  and  our  blows.  If  you  weigh  well  the 
strength  of  the  armies,  and  the  causes  of  the  war,  you  will  see  that 
in  this  battle  you  must  conquer  or  die.  This  is  a  woman's  re- 
solve ;  as  for  men,  they  may  live  and  be  slaves." 

Burrus  makes  his  figure  in  the  pages  of  Tacitus,  rather 
through  the  praises  bestowed  upon  him  by  the  historian, 
than  through  any  recital  of  things  that  he  achieved.  His 
end  was  not  without  accompaniment  of  tragedy.  The  tale 
is,  with  that  suggestion  of  pathos  so  characteristic  of  Tacitus, 
and  in  him  so  effective,  thus  briefly  told  by  the  historian  : 

While  the  miseries  of  the  State  were  daily  growing  worse,  its 
supports  were  becoming  weaker.  Burrus  died,  whether  from 
illness  or  from  poison  was  a  question.  It  was  supposed  to  be 
illness  from  the  fact  that  from  the  gradual  swelling  of  his  throat 
inwardly  and  the  closing  up  of  the  passage  he  ceased  to  breathe. 
Many  positively  asserted  that  by  Nero's  order  his  throat  was 
smeared  with  some  poisonous  drug  under  the  pretense  of  the 
application  of  a  remedy,  and  that  Burrus,  who  saw  through  the 
crime,  when  the  emperor  paid  him  a  visit,  recoiled  with  horror 
from  his  gaze,  and  merely  replied  to  his  question,  "  I  indeed  am 
well."  Rome  felt  for  him  a  deep  and  lasting  regret,  because  of  the 
remembrance  of  his  worth,  because  too  of  the  merely  passive 
virtue  of  one  of  his  successors  and  the  very  flagrant  iniquities  of 
the  other. 

The  fall  from  power  of  Seneca  was  as  graceful,  decorous,  and 


198  CLASSIC  LATIN  COURSE  IN  ENGLISH. 

dignified  a  piece  of  acting,  as  a  scene  well  presented  out  of  the 
French  classic  drama  of  the  seventeenth  century.  Readers 
will  think  of  Wolsey  and  King  Henry  the  Eighth.  Tacitus : 

The  death  of  Burrus  was  a  blow  to  Seneca's  power,  for  virtue 
had  not  the  same  strength  when  one  of  its  champions,  so  to  say, 
was  removed,  and  Nero  too  began  to  lean  on  worse  advisers.  They 
assailed  Seneca  with  various  charges,  representing  that  he  con- 
tinued to  increase  a  wealth  which  was  already  so  vast  as  to  be 
beyond  the  scale  of  a  subject,  and  was  drawing  to  himself  the 
attachment  of  the  citizens,  while  in  the  picturesqueness  of  his 
gardens  and  the  magnificence  of  his  country-houses  he  almost  sur- 
passed the  emperor.  They  further  alleged  against  him  that  he 
claimed  for  himself  alone  the  honors  of  eloquence,  and  composed 
poetry  more  assiduously,  as  soon  as  a  passion  for  it  had  seized 
on  Nero.  *'  Openly  inimical  to  the  prince's  amusements,  he  dis- 
paraged his  ability  in  driving  horses,  and  ridiculed  his  voice 
whenever  he  sang.  When  was  there  to  be  an  end  of  nothing  being 
publicly  admired  but  what  Seneca  was  thought  to  have  originated ! 
Surely  Nero's  boyhood  was  over,  and  he  was  all  but  in  the  prime 
of  youthful  manhood.  He  ought  to  shake  off  a  tutor,  furnished  as 
he  was  with  sufficiently  noble  instructors  in  his  own  ancestors." 

Seneca  meanwhile,  aware  of  these  slanders,  which  were  revealed 
to  him  by  those  who  had  some  respect  for  merit,  coupled  with  the 
fact  that  the  emperor  more  and  more  shunned  his  intimacy,  be- 
sought the  opportunity  of  an  interview.  This  was  granted,  and  he 
spoke  as  follows : 

"  It  is  fourteen  years  ago,  Caesar,  that  I  was  first  associated  with 
your  prospects,  and  eight  years  since  you  have  been  emperor. 
In  the  interval  you  have  heaped  on  me  such  honors  and  riches  that 
nothing  is  wanting  to  my  happiness  but  a  right  use  of  it.  I  will 
refer  to  great  examples  taken  not  from  my  own  but  from  your 
position.  Your  great-grandfather  Augustus  granted  to  Marcus 
Agrippa  the  calm  repose  of  Mit-y-le'ne,  to  Caius  Maecenas  what 
was  nearly  equivalent  to  a  foreign  retreat  in  the  capital  itself.  One 
of  these  men  shared  his  wars ;  the  other  struggled  with  many 
laborious  duties  at  Rome ;  both  received  rewards  which  were 
indeed  splendid,  but  only  proportioned  to  their  great  merits.  For 
myself,  what  other  recompense  had  I  for  your  munificence  than 
a  culture  nursed,  so  to  speak,  in  the  shade  of  retirement,  and  to 
which  a  glory  attaches  itself,  because  I  thus  seemed  to  have  helped 
on  the  early  training  of  your  youth,  an  ample  reward  for  the 
service. 

"  You  on  the  other  hand  have  surrounded  me  with  vast  influ- 


TACITUS.  199 

ence  and  boundless  wealth,  so  that  I  often  think  within  myself, 
Am  I,  who  am  but  of  an  equestrian  and  provincial  family, 
numbered  among  the  chief  men  of  Rome  ?  Among  nobles  who 
can  show  a  long  succession  of  glories,  has  my  new  name  become 
famous  ?  Where  is  the  mind  once  content  with  an  humble  lot  ?  Is 
this  the  man  who  is  building  up  his  garden  terraces,  who  paces 
grandly  through  the  suburban  parks,  and  revels  in  the  affluence  of 
such  broad  lands  and  such  widely  spread  investments  ?  Only  one 
apology  occurs  to  me,  that  it  would  not  have  been  right  in  me 
to  have  thwarted  your  bounty. 

"  And  yet  we  have  both  filled  up  our  respective  measures,  you  in 
giving  as  much  as  a  prince  can  bestow  on  a  friend,  and  I  in  re- 
ceiving as  much  as  a  friend  can  receive  from  a  prince.  All  else 
only  fosters  envy,  which,  like  all  things  human,  sinks  powerless 
beneath  your  greatness,  though  on  me  it  weighs  heavily.  To  me 
relief  is  a  necessity.  Just  as  I  should  implore  support  if  exhausted 
by  warfare  or  travel,  so  in  this  journey  of  life,  old  as  I  am  and  un- 
equal even  to  the  lightest  cares,  since  I  cannot  any  longer  bear  the 
burden  of  my  wealth,  I  crave  assistance.  Order  my  property  to  be 
managed  by  your  agents  and  to  be  included  in  your  estate.  Still  I 
shall  not  sink  myself  into  poverty,  but  having  surrendered  the 
splendors  which  dazzle  me,  I  will  henceforth  again  devote  to 
my  mind  all  the  leisure  and  attention  now  reserved  for  my  gar- 
dens and  country  houses.  You  have  yet  before  you  a  vigorous 
prime,  and  that  on  which  for  so  many  years  your  eyes  were  fixed, 
supreme  power.  We,  your  older  friends,  can  answer  for  our  quiet 
behavior.  It  will  likewise  redound  to  your  honor  that  you  have 
raised  to  the  highest  places  men  who  could  also  bear  moderate 
fortune." 

Nero's  reply  was  substantially  this :  "  My  being  able  to  meet 
your  elaborate  speech  with  an  instant  rejoinder  is,  I  consider, 
primarily  your  gift,  for  you  taught  me  how  to  express  myself 
not  only  after  reflection  but  at  a  moment's  notice.  My  great- 
grandfather Augustus  allowed  Agrippa  and  Maecenas  to  enjoy  rest 
after  their  labors,  but  he  did  it  at  an  age  carrying  with  it  an 
authority  sufficient  to  justify  any  boon,  of  any  sort,  he  might  have 
bestowed.  But  neither  of  them  did  he  strip  of  the  rewards  he  had 
given.  It  was  by  war  and  its  perils  they  had  earned  them  ;  for  in 
these  the  youth  of  Augustus  was  spent.  And  if  I  had  passed 
my  years  in  arms,  your  sword  and  right  hand  would  not  have 
failed  me.  But,  as  my  actual  condition  required,  you  watched 
over  my  boyhood,  then  over  my  youth,  with  wisdom,  counsel,  and 
advice.  And  indeed  your  gifts  to  me  will,  as  long  as  life  holds  out, 
be  lasting  possessions ;  those  which  you  owe  to  me,  your  parks,  in- 
vestments, your  country  houses,  are  liable  to  accidents.  Though 


200  CLASSIC  LATIN  COURSE  IN  ENGLISH. 

they  seem  much,  many  far  inferior  to  you  in  merit  have  obtained 
more.  I  am  ashamed  to  quote  the  names  of  freedmen  who  parade 
a  greater  wealth.  Hence  I  actually  blush  to  think  that,  standing 
as  you  do  first  in  my  affections,  you  do  not  as  yet  surpass  all  in 
fortune. 

"  Yours  too  is  still  a  vigorous  manhood,  quite  equal  to  the  labors 
of  business  and  to  the  fruit  of  those  labors ;  and,  as  for  myself, 
I  am  but  treading  the  threshold  of  empire.  But  perhaps  you 
count  yourself  inferior  to  Vitellius,  thrice  a  consul,  and  me  to 
Claudius.  Such  wealth  as  long  thrift  has  procured  for  Volusius, 
my  bounty,  you  think,  cannot  fully  make  up  to  you.  Why  not 
rather,  if  the  frailty  of  my  youth  goes  in  any  respect  astray,  call 
me  back  and  guide  yet  more  zealously  with  your  help  the  man- 
hood which  you  have  instructed?  It  will  not  be  your  moderation, 
if  you  restore  me  your  wealth,  not  your  love  of  quiet,  if  you 
forsake  your  emperor,  but  my  avarice,  the  fear  of  my  cruelty, 
which  will  be  in  all  men's  mouths.  Even  if  your  self-control  were 
praised  to  the  utmost,  still  it  would  not  be  seemly  in  a  wise  man  to 
get  glory  for  himself  in  the  very  act  of  bringing  disgrace  on  his 
friend." 

To  these  words  the  emperor  added  embraces  and  kisses;  for 
he  was  formed  by  nature  and  trained  by  habit  to  veil  his  hatred 
under  delusive  flattery.  Seneca  thanked  him,  the  usual  end  of  an 
interview  with  a  despot.  But  he  entirely  altered  the  practices 
of  his  former  greatness ;  he  kept  the  crowds  of  his  visitors  at  a 
distance,  avoided  trains  of  followers,  seldom  appeared  in  Rome,  as 
though  weak  health  or  philosophical  studies  detained  him  at  home. 

It  is  quite  impossible,  within  the  space  at  our  command, 
to  make  anything  like  an  adequate  impression  of  the  dreadful 
and  shameful  tragedy  that  drags  itself  interminably  along, 
through  all  the  pages  of  Tacitus  that  tell  the  story  of  Nero. 
Shame  after  shame,  crime  after  crime,  file  before  your  eyes 
in  ghastly  procession.  You  shudder,  but  you  are  fascinated 
to  gaze. 

Marie  Antoinette  had  in  some  respects  her  ancient  coun- 
terpart in  Octavia,  the  fair  young  wife  of  Nero.  Poppsea 
was  intolerant  of  any  rival  to  her  claim  of  absolute  power 
over  the  emperor.  Octavia  must  be  driven  from  Nero's 
side,  that  Poppsea  may  marry  him.  For  this  purpose,  an 
infamous  accusation  of  intrigue  on  her  part  with  a  slave,  is 


TACITUS.  201 

brought  against  Octavia.  Her  slave-girls  were  tortured  to 
make  them  swear  against  their  mistress.  But  one  of  them 
bravely  swore  that  her  mistress's  person  was  purer  than  the 
mouth  of  the  man  who  accused  her.  Octavia  could  not  be 
condemned ;  but  the  emperor  could  divorce  her.  Divorced 
she  was,  and  banished.  The  common  people  muttered 
dangerously  in  her  favor,  and  the  coward  tyrant  was  fain 
to  take  her  back.  But  the  populace  proved  imprudent  friends 
to  Octavia.  They  flung  down  the  statues  of  Poppsea  and 
decked  the  images  of  the  empress.  They  even  rioted  into  the 
palace,  with  menacing  shouts  of  joy.  The  soldiers  dispersed 
them  thence.  But  the  popular  triumph  had  already  been 
carried  too  far.  The  reaction  was  fatal  to  Octavia. 

A  new  crime  was  charged  upon  her.  The  emperor  sum- 
moned Anicetus,  the  man  that  before  had  helped  make  away 
with  his  mother,  and  suborned  him  to  confess  an  intrigue  with 
Octavia.  He  should  be  secured  from  evil  consequence  and  be 
well  rewarded ;  if  he  refused,  he  should  die.  Anicetus  was 
not  wanting  to  the  emperor's  wish.  Tacitus,  with  that  con- 
densed pessimistic  sarcasm  of  his,  simply  adds  :  "He  [Ani- 
cetus] was  then  banished  to  Sardinia,  where  he  endured  exile 
without  poverty  and  died  a  natural  death."  One  is  reminded 
of  Juvenal's  kindred  remark  concerning  an  infamous  exile, 
prospering  in  spite  of  his  crimes,  that  he  "basked  in  the 
wrath  of  heaven." 

Octavia  was  branded  adulteress  by  the  false  husband's  own 
perjury,  and  sent  in  exile  to  an  obscure  island.  Tacitus,  with 
noble  restrained  pathos,  says  : 

No  exile  ever  filled  the  eyes  of  beholders  with  tears  of  greater 
compassion.  Some  still  remembered  Agrippina,  banished  by 
Tiberius,  and  the  yet  fresher  memory  of  Julia,  whom  Claudius 
exiled,  was  present  to  men's  thoughts.  But  they  had  life's  prime 
for  their  stay ;  they  had  seen  some  happiness,  and  the  horror  of  the 
moment  was  alleviated  by  recollections  of  a  better  lot  in  the  past. 
For  Octavia,  from  the  first,  her  marriage-day  was  a  kind  of  funeral, 


202  CLASSIC  LATIN  COURSE  IN  ENGLISH. 

brought,  as  she  was,  into  a  house  where  she  had  nothing  but  scenes 
of  mourning,  her  father  and,  an  instant  afterward,  her  brother, 
having  been  snatched  from  her  by  poison ;  then,  a  slave-girl  raised 
above  the  mistress ;  Poppsea  married  only  to  insure  a  wife's  ruin, 
and,  to  end  all,  an  accusation  more  horrible  than  any  death. 

The  brief  sequel  is  unspeakably  sad : 

And  now  the  girl,  in  her  twentieth  year,  with  centurions  and 
soldiers  around  her,  already  removed  from  among  the  living  by 
the  forecast  of  doom,  still  could  not  reconcile  herself  to  death. 
After  an  interval  of  a  few  days  she  received  an  order  that  she  was 
to  die,  although  she  protested  that  she  was  now  a  widow  and  only  a 
sister,  and  appealed  to  their  common  ancestors,  the  Gennanici,  and 
finally  to  the  name  of  Agrippina,  during  whose  life  she  had  en- 
dured a  marriage,  which  was  miserable  enough  indeed,  but  not 
fatal.  She  was  then  tightly  bound  with  cords,  and  the  veins  of 
every  limb  were  opened ;  but  as  her  blood  was  congealed  by  terror 
and  flowed  too  slowly,  she  was  killed  outright  by  the  steam  of  an 
intensely  hot  bath.  To  this  was  added  the  yet  more  appalling 
horror  of  Poppaea  beholding  the  severed  head  which  was  con- 
veyed to  Home. 

If  there  were  wanting  anything  to  complete  the  shame  and 
horror  of  such  deeds,  the  servile  senate  supplied  the  defi- 
ciency. Tacitus,  now,  speaking  with  a  scorn  too  scornful 
to  condescend  to  express  itself  explicitly  : 

And  for  all  this  offerings  were  voted  to  the  temples.  I  record  the 
fact  with  a  special  object.  Whoever  would  study  the  calamities  of 
that  period  in  my  pages  or  those  of  other  authors,  is  to  take  it  for 
granted  that  as  often  as  the  emperor  directed  banishments  or 
executions,  so  often  was  there  a  thanksgiving  to  the  gods,  and 
what  formerly  commemorated  some  prosperous  event,  was  then 
a  token  of  public  disaster.  Still,  if  any  decree  of  the  Senate  was 
marked  by  some  new  flattery,  or  by  the  lowest  seryility,  I  shall 
not  pass  it  over  in  silence. 

Foils  to  the  indescribable  baseness  of  the  senate,  and  reliefs 
to  the  indescribable  depravity  of  the  emperor,  are  provided  by 
Tacitus,  not  only  in  the  names  of  Burrus  and  Seneca,  but  also 
in  the  name  of  now  and  then  a  solitary  example  of  surviving 
Roman  virtue,  like  Memmius,  Beg/u-lus,  Thra-se'a.  The 
whole  effect  resulting  is  scarcely  more  than  to  deepen  a  little 


TACITUS.  20$ 

the  dark  of  the  picture  by  contrast  of  bright.  Corbulo  like- 
wise moves  with  the  air  of  antique  Roman  grandeur,  through 
that  part  of  the  imperial  drama  which  meantime  is  enacted  in 
the  East.  The  reverberation  of  his  wars  reaches  Rome  like 
the  sound  of  "  thunder  heard  remote."  We  have  no  space  in 
these  pages  to  introduce  the  nobler  background  against  which, 
on  the  canvas  of  Tacitus,  Nero's  effeminacy  and  depravity 
show  conspicuous  with  a  shame  the  more  fatal  to  his  memory. 
But  consider  in  mercy — what  boy  ever  came  to  "  that  heritage 
of  woe,"  supreme  despotic  power,  under  auspices  blacker  than 
those  which  frowned  on  the  youth  of  this  imperial  wretch  ? 
The  destruction  of  Pompeii  (pe'-yi)  is  thus  briefly  narrated : 

An  earthquake  too  demolished  a  large  part  of  Pompeii,  a 
populous  town  in  Campania. 

Nero  had  a  daughter  born  to  him  by  Poppeea.  The  little 
creature's  life  happily  was  brief,  but  the  eager  servility  of  the 
senate,  and  the  drunken  pride  of  the  despot,  alike  at  her  birth 
and  at  her  death,  appear  in  strong  colors.  Tacitus  : 

The  place  of  Poppsea's  confinement  was  the  colony  of  Antium, 
where  the  emperor  himself  was  born.  Already  had  the  Senate 
commended  Poppsea's  safety  to  the  gods,  and  had  made  vows  in 
the  State's  name,  which  were  repeated  again  and  again  and  duly 
discharged.  To  these  was  added  a  public  thanksgiving,  and  a 
temple  was  decreed  to  the  goddess  of  fecundity,  as  well  as  games 
and  contests  after  the  type  of  the  ceremonies  commemorative  of 
Actium,  and  golden  images  of  the  two  Fortunes  were  to  be  set 
up  on  the  throne  of  Jupiter  of  the  Capitol.  Shows  too  of  the  circus 
were  to  be  exhibited  in  honor  of  the  Claudian  and  Domitian 
families  at  Antium,  like  those  at  Bo-vil'lse  in  commemoration 
of  the  Ju'li-i.  Transient  distinctions  all  of  them,  as  within  four 
months  the  infant  died.  Again  there  was  an  outburst  of  flattery, 
men  voting  the  honors  of  deification,  of  a  shrine,  a  temple,  and 
a  priest. 

The  emperor,  too,  was  as  excessive  in  his  grief  as  he  had  been  in 
his  joy.  It  was  observed  that  when  all  the  Senate  rushed  out 
to  Antium  to  honor  the  recent  birth,  Thrasea  was  forbidden  to 
go,  and  received  with  fearless  spirit  an  affront  which  foreboded  his 
doom.  Then  followed,  as  rumor  says,  an  expression  from  the  em- 


204  CLASSIC  LATIN  COURSE  IN  ENGLISH. 

peror,  in  which  he  boasted  to  Seneca  of  his  reconciliation  with 
Thrasea,  on  which  Seneca  congratulated  him.  And  now  hence- 
forth the  glory  and  the  peril  of  these  illustrious  men  grew  greater. 

There  still  recur  at  intervals  those  interludes  of  distant 
thunder  muttered  on  the  frontier  of  the  empire,  in  the  war- 
like operations  of  Corbulo.  Frequently  the  eye  is  caught 
with  dense  and  weighty  sayings  of  the  historian,  which  the 
temptation  is  great  to  transfer  to  these  pages.  But  the  effect 
would  be,  of  course,  much  impaired  by  removal  from  the 
setting  in  which  they  originally  appear.  Of  Corbulo's  man- 
ner in  public  discourse  Tacitus — himself,  let  it  be  remembered, 
of  the  highest  repute  as  an  orator — says,  "He  spoke  with 
much  impressiveness,  which  in  him,  as  a  military  man,  was 
as  good  as  eloquence."  Macaulay  might  have  said  that  of  the 
Duke  of  Wellington. 

Nero  took  the  pleasures  of  empire  with  a  boyish  delight 
that  was  not  far  off  from  malignity.  It  was  perhaps  an 
emotion  as  much  malicious  as  insane,  the  gratification  he 
experienced  in  making  the  proud  patricians  of  Rome  applaud 
him  while  he  disgraced  himself  in  their  eyes  by  appearing,  in 
private  and  in  public,  as  a  singer.  (It  was  now  the  year  64, 
and  Nero  was  a  young  fellow  of  about  twenty-six.)  But 
Tacitus  says  of  Nero,  that  "  even  amid  his  pleasures  there  was 
no  cessation  to  his  crimes."  It  is  only  because  the  limits 
of  our  space  forbid,  that  we  omit  to  tell  how  instance  after 
instance  occurs  of  Romans,  the  most  conspicuous  for  virtue, 
forced  under  imperial  pressure  to  make  away  with  themselves 
by  suicide — the  preferred  method  of  which  suicide  was  to  open 
the  veins,  or  the  arteries,  and  bleed  to  death. 

Thus  is  related  the  famous  infamy  of  the  burning  of  Rome 
under  Nero,  with  its  horrible  sequel : 

A  disaster  followed,  whether  accidental  or  treacherously  con- 
trived by  the  emperor,  is  uncertain,  as  authors  have  given  both 
accounts,  worse,  however,  and  more  dreadful  than  any  which 
have  ever  happened  to  this  city  by  the  violence  of  fire.  It  had  its 


TACITUS.  205 

beginning  in  that  part  of  the  circus  which  adjoins  the  Palatine  and 
Cselian  hills,  where,  amid  the  shops  containing  inflammable  wares, 
the  conflagration  both  broke  out  and  instantly  became  so  fierce  and 
so  rapid  from  the  wind  that  it  seized  in  its  grasp  the  entire  length 
of  the  circus.  For  here  there  were  no  houses  fenced  in  by  solid 
masonry,  or  temples  surrounded  by  walls,  or  any  other  obstacle  to 
interpose  delay.  The  blaze  in  its  fury  ran  first  through  the  level 
portions  of  the  city,  then  rising  to  the  hills,  while  it  again  devas- 
tated every  place  below  them,  it  outstripped  all  preventive 
measures;  so  rapid  was  the  mischief  and  so  completely  at  its 
mercy  the  city,  with  those  narrow  winding  passages  and  irregular 
streets,  which  characterized  old  Rome.  Added  to  this  were  the 
wailings  of  terror-stricken  women,  the  feebleness  of  age,  the  help- 
less inexperience  of  childhood,  the  crowds  who  sought  to  save 
themselves  and  others,  dragging  out  the  infirm  or  waiting  for 
them,  and  by  their  hurry  in  the  one  case,  by  their  delay  in  the 
other,  aggravating  the  confusion.  Often,  while  they  looked  behind 
them,  they  were  intercepted  by  flames  on  their  side  or  in  their 
face.  Or  if  they  reached  a  refuge  close  at  hand,  when  this  too  was 
seized  by  the  fire,  they  found,  that  even  places  which  they  had 
imagined  to  be  remote,  were  involved  in  the  same  calamity.  At 
last,  doubting  what  they  should  avoid  or  whither  betake  them- 
selves, they  crowded  the  streets  or  flung  themselves  down  in  the 
fields,  while  some  who  had  lost  their  all,  even  their  very  daily 
bread,  and  others  out  of  love  for  their  kinsfolk,  whom  they  had 
been  unable  to  rescue,  perished,  though  escape  was  open  to  them. 
And  no  one  dared  to  stop  the  mischief,  because  of  incessant 
menaces  from  a  number  of  persons  who  forbade  the  extinguishing 
of  the  flames,  because  again  others  openly  hurled  brands,  and 
kept  shouting  that  there  was  one  who  gave  them  authority,  either 
seeking  to  plunder  more  freely,  or  obeying  orders. 

Nero  at  this  time  was  at  Antium,  and  did  not  return  to  Rome 
until  the  fire  approached  his  house,  which  he  had  built  to  connect 
the  palace  with  the  gardens  of  Maecenas.  It  could  not,  however 
be  stopped  from  devouring  the  palace,  the  house,  and  every  thing 
around  it.  However,  to  relieve  the  people,  driven  out  homeless  as 
they  were,  he  threw  open  to  them  the  Campus  Martius  and  the 
public  buildings  of  Agrippa,  and  even  his  own  gardens,  and  raised 
temporary  structures  to  receive  the  destitute  multitude.  Supplies 
of  food  were  brought  up  from  Ostia  and  the  neighboring  towns,  and 
the  price  of  corn  was  reduced  to  three  sesterces  a  peck.  These  acts, 
though  popular,  produced  no  effect,  since  a  rumor  had  gone  forth 
every  where  that,  at  the  very  time  that  the  city  was  in  flames,  the  em- 
peror appeared  on  a  private  stage  and  sang  of  the  destruction  of  Troy, 
comparing  present  misfortunes  with  the  calamities  of  antiquity. 


206  CLASSIC  LATIN  COURSE  IN  ENGLISH. 

At  last,  after  five  days,  an  end  was  put  to  the  conflagration  at  the 
foot  of  the  Esquiline  hill,  by  the  destruction  of  all  buildings  on  a 
vast  space,  so  that  the  violence  of  the  fire  was  met  by  clear  ground 
and  open  sky.  But  before  people  had  laid  aside  their  fears,  the 
flames  returned,  with  no  less  fury  this  second  time,  and  especially 
in  the  spacious  districts  of  the  city.  Consequently,  though  there 
was  less  loss  of  life,  the  temples  of  the  gods,  and  the  porticoes 
which  were  devoted  to  enjoyment,  fell  in  a  yet  more  wide-spread 
ruin.  And  to  this  conflagration  there  attached  the  greater  infamy 
because  it  broke  out  on  the  .lEmilian  property  of  Tigellinus,  and  it 
seemed  that  Nero  was  aiming  at  the  glory  of  founding  a  new  city 
and  calling  it  by  his  name.  Rome,  indeed,  is  divided  into  fourteen 
districts,  four  of  which  remained  uninjured,  three  were  leveled  to 
the  ground,  while  in  the  other  seven  were  left  only  a  few  shattered, 
half-burnt  relics  of  houses. 

Tacitus  relates  that  Nero  "  availed  himself  of  his  country's 
desolation,  and  erected  a  mansion  in  which  the  jewels  and 
gold,  long  familiar  objects,  quite  vulgarized  by  our  extrava- 
gance, were  not  so  marvelous  as  the  fields  and  lakes,  with 
woods  on  one  side  to  resemble  a  wilderness,  and,  on  the  other, 
open  spaces  and  extensive  views."  Many  audacious  public 
works  were  undertaken,  some  of  them  in  absolute  defiance  of 
the  laws  of  nature.  The  city  was  splendidly  rebuilt,  and  the 
gods  were  elaborately  propitiated — in  vain.  Tacitus  says — and 
here  occurs  the  sole  mention  deemed  necessary  by  the  historian 
to  be  made,  of  a  certain  religious  sect,  destined,  however  little 
he  dreamed  it,  to  multiply,  and  to  endure,  untold  centuries 
after  that  imperial  Rome  of  which  he  wrote  should  have  be- 
come a  name  and  a  memory — Tacitus  says  : 

All  human  efforts,  all  the  lavish  gifts  of  the  emperor,  and  the 
propitiations  of  the  gods,  did  not  banish  the  sinister  belief  that  the 
conflagration  was  the  result  of  an  order.  Consequently,  to  get  rid 
of  the  report,  Nero  fastened  the  guilt  and  inflicted  the  most  ex- 
quisite tortures  on  a  class  hated  for  their  abominations,  called 
Christians  by  the  populace.  Christus,  from  whom  the  name  had 
its  origin,  suffered  the  extreme  penalty  during  the  reign  of 
Tiberius  at  the  hands  of  one  of  our  procurators,  Pon'ti-us  Pi-la' tus, 
and  a  most  mischievous  superstition,  thus  checked  for  the 
moment,  again  broke  out  not  only  in  Judiea,  the  first  source  of  the 


TACITUS.  207 

evil,  but  even  in  Rome,  where  all  things  hideous  and  shameful 
from  every  part  of  the  world  find  their  center  and  become  popular. 
Accordingly,  an  arrest  was  first  made  of  all  who  pleaded  guilty ; 
then,  upon  their  information,  an  immense  multitude  was  con- 
victed, not  so  much  of  the  crime  of  firing  the  city,  as  of  hatred 
against  mankind.  Mockery  of  every  sort  was  added  to  their 
deaths.  Covered  with  the  skins  of  beasts,  they  were  torn  by  dogs 
and  perished,  or  were  nailed  to  crosses,  or  were  doomed  to  the 
flames  and  burnt,  to  serve  as  a  nightly  illumination,  when  daylight 
had  expired. 

Nero  offered  his  gardens  for  the  spectacle,  and  was  exhibiting  a 
show  in  the  circus,  while  he  mingled  with  the  people  in  the  dress 
of  a  charioteer  or  stood  aloft  on  a  car.  Hence,  even  for  criminals 
who  deserved  extreme  and  exemplary  punishment,  there  arose  a 
feeling  of  compassion  ;  for  it  was  not,  as  it  seemed,  for  the  public 
good,  but  to  glut  one  man's  cruelty,  that  they  were  being  destroyed. 

The  world  now  was  ransacked  and  plundered  to  glut  the 
passion  of  the  emperor  for  profuse  expenditure.  The  temples 
of  the  gods  did  not  escape.  Seneca  felt  that  his  own  person 
was  in  danger,  should  he  stick  at  committing  sacrilege  at  the 
beck  of  the  emperor.  He,  therefore — "  it  was  said,"  as  Tacitus 
cautiously  relates  it — : 

To  avert  from  himself  the  obloquy  of  sacrilege,  begged  for  the 
seclusion  of  a  remote  rural  retreat,  and,  when  it  was  refused, 
feigning  ill  health,  as  though  he  had  a  nervous  ailment,  would  not 
quit  his  chamber.  According  to  some  writers,  poison  was  pre- 
pared for  him  at  Nero's  command  by  his  own  freedman,  whose 
name  was  Cleonnicus.  This  Seneca  avoided  through  the  freed- 
man's  disclosure,  or  his  own  apprehension,  while  he  used  to  sup- 
port life  on  the  very  simple  diet  of  wild  fruits,  with  water  from  a 
running  stream  when  thirst  prompted. 

Wantonness  of  despotism,  such  as  Nero's,  could  not  but  pro- 
voke conspiracy  against  the  despot.  Tacitus  gives  a  circum- 
stantial account  of  a  plot  which,  having  gone  near  to  success, 
failed,  at  the  critical  point,  through  the  perfidy  of  a  freedman. 
The  fidelity  unto  death  of  a  freedwoman  affords  a  striking 
contrast.  Tacitus  thus  admiringly  describes  this  woman's 
conduct : 

Nero,  meanwhile,  remembering  that  E-pich'a-ris  was  in  custody 


208  CLASSIC  LATIN  COURSE  IN  ENGLISH. 

on  the  information  of  Vo-lu'si-us  Proc'u-lus,  and  assuming  that  a 
woman's  frame  must  be  unequal  to  the  agony,  ordered  her  to  be 
torn  on  the  rack.  But  neither  the  scourge  nor  fire,  nor  the  fury  of 
the  men  as  they  increased  the  torture  that  they  might  not  be  a 
•woman's  scorn,  overcame  her  positive  denial  of  the  charge.  Thus 
the  first  day's  inquiry  was  futile.  On  the  morrow,  as  she  was 
being  dragged  back  on  a  chair  to  the  same  torments  (for  with  her 
limbs  all  dislocated  she  could  not  stand),  she  tied  a  band,  which 
she  had  stript  off  her  bosom,  in  a  sort  of  noose  to  the  arched  back 
of  the  chair,  put  her  neck  in  it,  and  then  straining  with  the  whole 
weight  of  her  body,  wrung  out  of  her  frame  its  little  remaining 
breath.  All  the  nobler  was  the  example  set  by  a  freedwoman  at 
such  a  crisis  in  screening  strangers  and  those  whom  she  hardly 
knew,  when  freeborn  men,  Roman  knights,  and  senators,  yet  un- 
scathed by  torture,  betrayed,  every  one,  his  dearest  kinsfolk. 

Following  the  exposure  of  the  plot,  comes  a  sickening  list  of 
horrors  in  revenge,  enacted  under  order  of  Nero.  These  in- 
volve the  doom,  now  no  longer  to  be  postponed,  of  Seneca,  the 
philosopher.  Seneca  was  not  a  cotivicted  conspirator.  He 
was,  perhaps,  not  even  seriously  suspected  of  conspiring. 
But  Nero  hated  him,  and  would  at  all  cost  be  rid  of  him. 
Seneca  was  reported  to  have  said,  ambiguously  and  darkly, 
concerning  a  man  involved  in  the  plot :  "  I  will  not  talk  with 
him,  but  my  own  safety  is  bound  up  in  his."  This  was 
enough.  Seneca  was  given  the  opportunity,  at  his  option,  to 
acknowledge  or  to  repudiate  the  language  attributed  to  him. 
He  answered  proudly  and  bravely.  Nero,  on  receiving  the 
report  of  his  answer,  asked,  "  Is  he  meditating  suicide  ?  "  The 
officer  said  he  saw  in  Seneca  no  signs  of  fear  and  no  signs 
of  low  spirits.  He  was  bidden  go  back  and  tell  Seneca  to 
make  away  with  himself.  Now  Tacitus  : 

Seneca,  quite  unmoved,  asked  for  tablets  on  which  to  inscribe 
his  will,  and,  on  the  centurion's  refusal,  turned  to  his  friends, 
protesting  that  as  he  was  forbidden  to  requite  them,  he  bequeathed 
to  them  the  only,  but  still  the  noblest,  possession  yet  remaining  to 
him,  the  pattern  of  his  life,  which,  if  they  remembered,  they 
would  win  a  name  for  moral  worth  and  steadfast  friendship.  At 
the  same  time  [braced,  beyond  doubt,  by  the  remembered  example 
of  Socrates],  he  called  them  back  from  their  tears  to  manly  resolu- 


TACITUS.  209 

tion,  now  with  friendly  talk,  and  now  with  the  sterner  language  of 
rebuke.  "  Where,"  he  asked  again  and  again,  "  are  your  maxims 
of  philosophy,  or  the  preparation  of  so  many  years'  study  against 
evils  to  come  ?  Who  knew  not  Nero's  cruelty?  After  a  mother's 
and  a  brother's  murder,  nothing  remains  but  to  add  the  destruction 
of  a  guardian  and  a  tutor." 

Having  spoken  these  and  like  words,  meant,  so  to  say,  for  all,  he 
embraced  his  wife ;  then  softening  awhile  from  the  stern  resolution 
of  the  hour,  he  begged  and  implored  her  to  spare  herself  the 
burden  of  perpetual  sorrow,  and,  in  the  contemplation  of  a  life 
virtuously  spent,  to  endure  a  husband's  loss  with  honorable  con- 
solations. She  declared,  in  answer,  that  she  too  had  decided  to 
die,  and  claimed  for  herself  the  blow  of  the  executioner.  There- 
upon Seneca,  not  to  thwart  her  noble  ambition,  from  an  affection 
too  which  would  not  leave  behind  him  for  insult  one  whom  he 
dearly  loved,  replied :  "  I  have  shown  you  ways  of  smoothing 
life ;  you  prefer  the  glory  of  dying.  I  will  not  grudge  you  such  a 
noble  example.  Let  the  fortitude  of  so  courageous  an  end  be  alike 
in  both  of  us,  but  let  there  be  more  in  your  decease  to  win  fame." 

Then  by  one  and  the  same  stroke  they  sundered  with  a  dagger 
the  arteries  of  their  arms.  Seneca,  as  his  aged  frame,  attenuated 
by  frugal  diet,  allowed  the  blood  to  escape  but  slowly,  severed  also 
the  veins  of  his  legs  and  knees.  Worn  out  by  cruel  anguish,  afraid 
too  that  his  sufferings  might  break  his  wife's  spirit,  and  that,  as 
he  looked  on  her  tortures,  he  might  himself  sink  into  irresolution, 
he  persuaded  her  to  retire  into  another  chamber.  Even  at  the  last 
moment  his  eloquence  failed  him  not ;  he  summoned  his  secretaries, 
and  dictated  much  to  them  which,  as  it  has  been  published  for  all 
readers  in  his  own  words,  I  forbear  to  paraphrase. 

Seneca's  wife  was  not  thus  to  die  with  her  husband.  She 
must  survive  him. ;  and  must  so  incur  a  reaction  of  suspicion 
against  herself,  that  will  cloud  the  fame  of  her  courage. 
Nero,  not  hating  her,  and  not  wishing  to  aggravate  with 
the  people  the  odium  of  his  cruelty,  forbade  her  to  die. 
Tacitus  again  : 

At  the  soldiers'  prompting  her  slaves  and  freedmen  bound  up 
her  arms,  and  stanched  the  bleeding,  whether  with  her  knowledge 
is  doubtful.  For  as  the  vulgar  are  ever  ready  to  think  the 
worst,  there  were  persons  who  believed  that,  as  long  as  she 
dreaded  Nero's  relentlessness,  she  sought  the  glory  of  sharing 
her  husband's  death,  but  that  after  a  time,  when  a  more  soothing 
prospect  presented  itself,  she  yielded  to  the  charms  of  life.  To 


210  CLASSIC  LATIN  COURSE  IN  ENGLISH. 

this  she  added  a  few  subsequent  years,  with  a  most  praiseworthy 
remembrance  of  her  husband,  and  with  a  countenance  and  frame 
white  to  a  degree  of  pallor  which  denoted  a  loss  of  much  vital 
energy. 

The  historian  returns  to  finish  the  slow  suicide  of  Seneca  : 

Seneca  meantime,  as  the  tedious  process  of  death  still  lingered 
on,  begged  Sta'ti-us  An-nse'us,  whom  he  had  long  esteemed  for  his 
faithful  friendship  and  medical  skill,  to  produce  a  poison  with 
which  he  had  some  time  before  provided  himself,  the  same  drug 
which  extinguished  the  life  of  those  who  were  condemned  by 
a  public  sentence  of  the  people  of  Athens.  It  was  brought  to  him 
and  he  drank  it  in  vain,  chilled  as  he  was  throughout  his  limbs, 
and  his  frame  closed  against  the  efficacy  of  the  poison.  At  last 
he  entered  a  pool  of  heated  water,  from  which  he  sprinkled  the 
nearest  of  his  slaves,  adding  the  exclamation,  "  I  offer  this  liquid 
as  a  libation  to  Jupiter  the  Deliverer."  He  was  then  carried  into  a 
bath,  with  the  steam  of  which  he  was  suffocated,  arid  he  was 
burned  without  any  of  the  usual  funeral  rites.  So  he  had  directed 
in  a  codicil  of  his  will,  when  even  in  the  height  of  his  wealth 
and  power  he  was  thinking  of  his  life's  close. 

Rumor  could  not  fail  to  breed  plentifully  in  the  teeming 
ferment  of  such  crime  and  such  tragedy.  Subrius  Flavus 
was  a  chief  conspirator  from  among  the  soldiers  of  Nero, 
while  Piso  was  the  figure-head  put  forward  as  pretender  to 
the  empire  in  Nero's  room.  Now  let  Tacitus  give  us,  in  his 
own  words,  a  popular  rumor  affecting  these  two  men,  in 
connection  with  Seneca: 

There  was  a  rumor  that  Subrius  Flavus  had  held  a  secret  consul- 
tation with  the  centurions,  and  had  planned,  not  without  Seneca's 
knowledge,  that  when  Nero  had  been  slain  by  Piso's  instrumental- 
ity, Piso  also  was  to  be  murdered,  and  the  empire  handed  over 
to  Seneca,  as  a  man  singled  out  for  his  splendid  virtues  by  all 
persons  of  integrity.  Even  a  saying  of  Flavus  was  popularly  cur- 
rent, "  that  it  mattered  not  as  to  the  disgrace  if  a  harp-player  were 
removed  and  a  tragic  actor  succeeded  him."  For  as  Nero  used 
to  sing  to  the  harp,  so  did  Piso  in  the  dress  of  a  tragedian. 

Subrius  Flavus  did  not  escape.  But  he  died  at  last  with 
a  scornful  bravery  that  has  immortalized  his  fame.  Tacitus : 

Questioned  by  Nero  as  to  the  motives  which  had  led  him  on 
to  forget  his  oath  of  allegiance,  "I  hated  you,"  he  replied;  "yet 


TACITUS.  211 

not  a  soldier  was  more  loyal  to  you  while  you  deserved  to  be  loved. 
I  began  to  hate  you  when  you  became  the  murderer  of  your 
mother  and  your  wife,  a  charioteer,  an  actor,  and  an  incendiary." 
I  have  given  the  man's  very  words,  because  they  were  not,  like 
those  of  Seneca,  generally  published,  though  the  rough  and  vigor- 
ous sentiments  of  a  soldier  ought  to  be  no  less  known. 

Throughout  the  conspiracy  nothing,  it  was  certain,  fell  with  more 
terror  on  the  ears  of  Nero,  who  was  as  unused  to  be  told  of  the 
crimes  he  perpetrated  as  he  was  eager  in  their  perpetration.  The 
punishment  of  Flavus  was  intrusted  to  Ve-ia'ni-us  Niger,  a 
tribune.  At  his  direction,  a  pit  was  dug  in  a  neighboring  field. 
Flavus,  on  seeing  it,  censured  it  as  too  shallow  and  confined, 
saying  to  the  soldiers  around  him,  "  Even  this  is  not  according  to 
military  rule."  When  bidden  to  offer  his  neck  resolutely,  "  I 
wish,"  said  he,  "  that  your  stroke  may  be  as  resolute."  The 
tribune  trembled  greatly,  and  having  only  just  severed  his  head  at 
two  blows,  vaunted  his  brutality  to  Nero,  saying  that  he  had  slain 
him  with  a  blow  and  a  half. 

The  opportunity  seemed  favorable  to  Nero  for  clearing  off 
at  once  the  score  of  his  personal  hatreds.  Ves-ti'nus,  the 
consul,  could  not  be  brought  under  any  show  of  suspicion. 
But  the  emperor  hated  him  as  a  boon  companion  "  who  often 
bantered  him  with  that  rough  humor  which  [an  observation 
showing  the  historian  wise  in  human  nature],  when  it  draws 
largely  on  facts,  leaves  a  bitter  memory  behind  it."  Nero 
used  his  imperial  reserve  of  outright  and  peremptory  despot- 
ism, for  the  destruction  of  Vestinus.  The  soldiers  came  upon 
the  consul  in  the  midst  of  a  banquet,  at  which  he  was  enter- 
taining friends  in  his  own  house.  The  tribune  announced  his 
sentence.  Now  Tacitus  : 

He  rose  without  a  moment's  delay,  and  every  preparation  was  at 
once  made.  He  shut  himself  into  his  chamber ;  a  physician  was  at 
his  side ;  his  veins  were  opened ;  with  life  still  strong  in  him, 
he  was  carried  into  a  bath,  and  plunged  into  warm  water,  without 
uttering  a  word  of  pity  for  himself.  Meanwhile  the  guards  sur- 
rounded those  who  had  sat  at  his  table,  and  it  was  only  at  a  late 
hour  of  the  night  that  they  were  dismissed,  when  Nero,  having 
pictured  to  himself  and  laughed  over  their  terror  at  the  expectation 
of  a  fatal  end  to  their  banquet,  said  that  they  had  suffered  enough 
punishment  for  their  consul's  entertainment. 


212  CLASSIC  LATIN  COURSE  IN  ENGLISH. 

The  poet  Lucan,  author  of  the  "  Pharsalia,"  an  epic  poem 
on  the  civil  war  between  Csesar  and  Pompey,  was  another 
victim.  He  died  at  twenty-seven  years  of  age,  with  theatric 
circumstance  well  befitting  the  type  of  his  genius.  Tacitus  : 

As  the  blood  flowed  freely  from  him,  and  he  felt  a  chill  creeping 
through  his  feet  and  hands,  and  the  life  gradually  ebbing  from  his 
extremities,  though  the  heart  was  still  warm  and  he  retained 
his  mental  power,  Lu-ca'nus  recalled  some  poetry  he  had  com- 
posed in  which  he  had  told  the  story  of  a  wounded  soldier 
dying  a  similar  kind  of  death,  and  he  recited  the  very  lines. 
These  were  his  last  words. 

The  abjectness  of  Rome  amid  this  carnival  of  blood  passes 
belief.  "One  after  another,"  so  Tacitus  relates,  "on  the 
destruction  of  a  brother,  a  kinsman,  or  a  friend,  would  return 
thanks  to  the  gods,  deck  his  house  with  laurels,  prostrate 
himself  at  the  knees  of  the  emperor,  and  weary  his  hand 
with  kisses." 

"  Poppaea  died,"  so  Tacitus  relates,  "  from  a  casual  outburst 
of  rage  in  her  husband,  who  felled  her  with  a  kick  when 
she  was  pregnant."  Nero  eulogized  her  publicly  from  the 
rostra. 

We  break  into  the  gloomy  catalogue  of  imperial  crimes 
recounted  by  Tacitus,  to  give  the  story,  surpassing  in  tragedy, 
of  the  threefold  associate  death  of  Lucius  Vetus,  of  Sextia,  his 
mother-in-law,  and  of  Pollutia,  his  daughter.  Pollutia  was 
the  widow  of  a  man  formerly  murdered  by  Nero.  She  in- 
terceded in  vain  with  the  emperor  on  her  father's  behalf. 
Tacitus  says : 

He  was  at  the  same  time  informed  that  judicial  proceedings 
in  the  Senate  and  a  dreadful  sentence  were  hanging  over  him. 
Some  there  were  who  advised  him  to  name  the  emperor  as  his  chief 
heir,  and  so  secure  the  remainder  for  his  grandchildren.  But 
he  spurned  the  notion,  and  unwilling  to  disgrace  a  life  which 
had  clung  to  freedom  by  a  final  act  of  servility,  he  bestowed  on  his 
slaves  all  his  ready  money,  and  ordered  each  to  convey  away 
for  himself  whatever  he  could  carry,  leaving  only  three  couches  for 
the  last  scene.  Then  in  the  same  chamber,  with  the  same  weapon, 


TACITUS.  213 

they  sundered  their  veins,  and  speedily  hurried  into  a  bath, 
covered  each,  as  delicacy  required,  with  a  single  garment,  the 
father  gazing  intently  on  his  daughter,  the  grandmother  on  her 
grandchild,  she  again  on  both,  while  with  rival  earnestness  they 
prayed  that  the  ebbing  life  might  have  a  quick  departure,  each 
wishing  to  leave  a  relative  still  surviving,  but  just  on  the  verge  of 
death.  Fortune  preserved  the  due  order ;  the  oldest  died  first,  then 
the  others  according  to  priority  of  age.  They  were  prosecuted  after 
their  burial,  and  the  sentence  was  that  "  they  should  be  punished 
in  ancient  fashion."  Nero  interposed  his  veto,  allowing  them 
to  die  without  his  interference.  Such  were  the  mockeries  added  to 
murders  already  perpetrated. 

Storms  accompanied,  and  pestilence,  to  signalize,  more 
gloomily  still,  this  year  of  shameful  human  deeds.  Tacitus 
interrupts  himself,  amid  his  narrative  of  horrible  things,  to 
say: 

Even  if  I  had  to  relate  foreign  wars  and  deaths  encountered 
in  the  service  of  the  State  with  such  a  monotony  of  disaster,  I 
should  myself  have  been  overcome  by  disgust,  while  I  should  look 
for  weariness  in  my  readers,  sickened  as  they  would  be  by  the 
melancholy  and  continuous  destruction  of  our  citizens,  however 
glorious  to  themselves.  But  now  a  servile  submissiveness  and 
so  much  wanton  bloodshed  at  home  fatigue  the  mind  and  paralyze 
it  with  grief.  The  only  indulgence  I  would  ask  from  those 
who  will  acquaint  themselves  with  these  horrors  is,  that  I  be 
not  thought  to  hate  men  who  perished  so  tamely.  Such  was  the 
wrath  of  heaven  against  the  Roman  State  that  one  may  not  pass 
over  it  with  a  single  mention,  as  one  might  the  defeat  of  armies  and 
the  capture  of  cities.  Let  us  grant  this  privilege  to  the  posterity  of 
illustrious  men,  that  just  as  in  their  funeral  obsequies  such  men  are 
not  confounded  in  a  common  burial,  so  in  the  record  of  their  end 
they  may  receive  and  retain  a  special  memorial. 

A  singular  case  of  gay  and  gallant  greeting  to  compulsory 
death  occurred — without  mention  of  which,  our  picture  of  the 
time  would  want  something  of  proper  contrast  to  make  it 
complete.  Of  this  incident,  Caius  Pe-tro/ni-us  was  the  hero. 
A  certain  literary  interest  attaches  to  the  name  of  Petronius. 
He  was  putative  author  of  a  phrase  that  is  one  of  the  most 
familiar  commonplaces  of  literature — "  curious  felicity,"  as  it 
is  transferred,  rather  than  translated,  from  the  original  Latin, 


214  CLASSIC  LATIN  COUKSK  IN  ENGLISH. 

curiosa  felicitas.  The  words  thus  combined  were  meant  to  ex- 
press the  idea  of  that  perfection  in  phrase  which  is  the  result 
of  great  care,  joined  to  excellent  good  luck,  in  the  choice  of 
language  to  match  your  thought.  Tacitus  says : 

With  regard  to  Caius  Petronius,  I  ought  to  dwell  a  little  on 
his  antecedents.  His  days  he  passed  in  sleep,  his  nights  in  the 
business  and  pleasures  of  life.  Indolence  had  raised  him  to  fame, 
as  energy  raises  others,  and  he  was  reckoned  not  a  debauchee 
and  spendthrift,  like  most  of  those  who  squander  their  substance, 
but  a  man  of  refined  luxury.  And  indeed  his  talk  and  his  doings, 
the  freer  they  were  and  the  more  show  of  carelessness  they  ex- 
hibited, were  the  better  liked,  for  their  look  of  a  natural  simplicity. 
Yet  as  proconsul  of  Bithynia,  and  soon  afterward  as  consul, 
he  showed  himself  a  man  of  vigor  and  equal  to  business.  Then 
falling  back  into  vice,  or  affecting  vice,  he  was  chosen  by  Nero 
to  be  one  of  his  few  intimate  associates,  as  a  critic  in  matters  of 
taste,  while  the  emperor  thought  nothing  charming  or  elegant 
in  luxury  unless  Petronius  had  expressed  to  him  his  approval  of  it. 
Hence  jealousy  on  the  part  of  Tigellinus,  who  looked  on  him  as  a 
rival  and  even  his  superior  in  the  science  of  pleasure.  And  so 
he  worked  on  the  prince's  cruelty,  which  dominated  every  other 
passion,  charging  Petronius  with  having  been  the  friend  of  Scae- 
vi'nus,  bribing  a  slave  to  become  informer,  robbing  him  of  the 
means  of  defense,  and  hurrying  into  prison  the  greater  part  of  his 
domestics. 

It  happened  at  the  time  that  the  emperor  was  on  his  way  to  Cam- 
pania, and  that  Petronius,  after  going  as  far  as  Cumse,  was  there 
detained.  He  bore  no  longer  the  suspense  of  fear  or  hope.  Yet  he 
did  not  fling  away  life  with  precipitate  haste,  but  having  made 
an  incision  "in  his  veins  and  then,  according  to  his  humor,  bound 
them  up,  he  again  opened  them,  while  he  conversed  with  his 
friends,  not  in  a  serious  strain  or  on  topics  that  might  win  for  him 
the  glory  of  courage.  And  he  listened  to  them  as  they  repeated, 
not  thoughts  on  the  immortality  of  the  soul  or  on  the  theories 
of  philosophers,  but  light  poetry  and  playful  verses.  To  some 
of  his  slaves  he  gave  liberal  presents,  a  flogging  to  others.  He 
dined,  indulged  himself  in  sleep,  that  death,  though  forced  on  him, 
might  have  a  natural  appearance.  Even  in  his  will  he  did  not, 
as  did  many  in  their  last  moments,  flatter  Nero  or  Tigellinus  or 
any  other  of  the  men  in  power.  On  the  contrary,  he  described 
fully  the  prince's  shameful  excesses,  with  the  names  of  his  male 
and  female  companions  and  their  novelties  in  debauchery,  and 
sent  the  account  under  seal  to  Nero.  Then  he  broke  his  signet- 


TACITUS.  215 

ring,  that  it  might  not  be  subsequently  available  for  imperiling 
others. 

One  cannot  help  indulging  a  transient  admiration  of  some- 
thing in  the  dying  of  this  Roman  exquisite,  of  an  evil  time, 
that  goes  toward  redeeming  the  ignoble  of  his  life. 

Thra-se/a  is  almost  as  much  the  chosen  historical  favorite  of 
Tacitus,  as  William  of  Orange  notoriously  was  of  Macaulay. 
The  story  of  the  end  of  this  "  noblest  Roman  of  them  all" 
the  historian  begins  with  this  impressive  preface  :  "  Nero, 
after  having  butchered  so  many  illustrious  men,  at  last 
aspired  to  extirpate  virtue  itself  by  murdering  Thrasea 
Psetus  and  Ba-re'a  So-ra/nus." 

How  Thrasea  died  is  thus  related  by  Tacitus  : 

As  evening  approached,  the  consul's  quaestor  was  sent  to 
Thrasea,  who  was  passing  his  time  in  his  garden.  He  had  had 
a  crowded  gathering  of  distinguished  men  and  women,  giving 
special  attention  to  Demetrius,  a  professor  of  the  Cynic  philosophy. 
With  him,  as  might  be  inferred  from  his  earnest  expression  of  face 
and  from  words  heard  when  they  raised  their  voices,  he  was  specu- 
lating on  the  nature  of  the  soul  and  on  the  separation  of  the  spirit 
from  the  body,  till  Domitius  Cae'cil-i-a'nus,  one  of  his  intimate 
friends,  came  to  him  and  told  him  in  detail  what  the  Senate  had 
decided.  When  all  who  were  present  wept  and  bitterly  com- 
plained, Thrasea  urged  them  to  hasten  their  departure  and  not 
mingle  their  own  perils  with  the  fate  of  a  doomed  man.  Arria  too 
who  aspired  to  follow  her  husband's  end  and  the  example  of  Arria, 
her  mother,  he  counseled  to  preserve  her  life,  and  not  rob  the 
daughter  of  their  love  of  her  only  stay. 

Then  he  went  out  into  a  colonnade,  where  he  was  found  by 
the  quaestor,  joyful  rather  than  otherwise,  as  he  had  learned 
that  Hel-vid'i-us,  his  son-in-law,  was  merely  excluded  from  Italy. 
When  he  heard  the  Senate's  decision,  he  led  Helvidius  and  Deme- 
trius into  a  chamber,  and  having  laid  bare  the  arteries  of  each  arm, 
he  let  the  blood  flow  freely,  and,  as  he  sprinkled  it  on  the  ground, 
he  called  the  quaestor  to  his  side  and  said :  "  We  pour  out  a  libation 
to  Jupiter  the  Deliverer.  Behold,  young  man,  and  may  the  gods 
avert  the  omen,  but  you  have  been  born  into  times  in  which  it 
is  well  to  fortify  the  spirit  with  examples  of  courage."  Then  as 
the  slowness  of  his  end  brought  with  it  grievous  anguish,  turning 
his  eyes  on  Demetrius.  .  .  . 


216  C11A.SSIC  LATIN  COURSE  IN  ENGLISH. 

The  "Annals  "  of  Tacitus,  as  they  exist  to  moderns,  end  ab- 
ruptly thus,  on  a  sentence  unfinished,  with  Thrasea  in  the 
unfinished  act  of  dying.  The  rest  of  Nero's  reign,  a  period  of 
two  years,  we  lose  from  the  incomparable  record  of  Tacitus. 
That  living  bulwark  of  the  empire,  Corbulo,  fell  a  victim 
to  the  jealousy  of  the  emperor,  being  met  at  Corinth  on  his 
return  from  the  East  with  the  imperial  sentence  to  suicide. 
In  A.  D.  68,  Nero,  risen  against  by  his  subjects,  and  himself 
now  under  sentence  of  death  from  the  senate,  died  wretchedly 
at  last  by  his  own  hand. 

A  Rome  how  different  from  the  Rome  of  Livy,  is  the  Rome 
that  Tacitus  describes  !  But  the  degeneracy,  so  great,  of  later 
Rome  was,  after  all,  only  a  ripeness  in  the  fruit,  of  a  disease 
that  lurked  from  the  first  in  the  heart  of  the  flower. 


CHAPTEE  IX. 

PLAUTUS  AND   TERENCK. 

WE  put  Plautus  and  Terence  together  in  treatment,  both  be- 
cause we  have  not  room  to  treat  them  separately,  and  because 
they  are  naturally  associated,  as  being  to  us  the  two  sole 
surviving  representatives  of  the  ancient  Roman  drama.  Plau- 
tus was  the  elder.  Plautus,  in  fact,  is  the  very  eldest  Roman 
writer  known  to  moderns  by  any  complete  work  remaining 
from  his  hand.  He  was  not  many  years  before  Terence ; 
but  Terence,  by  something  more  modern  in  his  manner, 
seems  two  or  three  literary  generations  nearer  to  our  time. 

Plautus  as  well  as  Terence  borrowed  freely  from  the 
Greek.  By  a  curious  fortune  in  survival,  the  Greek  Menan- 
der  lives  now  only,  or  almost  only,  in  the  reproductions  of 
his  works  proceeding  from  these  two  Roman  borrowers. 
Menander  was  a  very  different  writer  of  comedy  from  Aris- 
tophanes. The  colossal  drollery,  the  personal  hard-hitting,  the 
illimitable  freedom,  of  Aristophanes,  were  in  Menander  ex- 
changed for  something  much  nearer  to  that  decent  raillery 
at  current  morals  and  manners  which  is  the  prevailing 
character  of  modern  comedy.  The  "New  Comedy,"  Me- 
nander's  school  was  called,  to  distinguish  it  from  the  school 
of  Aristophanes,  which  was  called  the  "Old,"  in  contrast. 
We  have  in  part  to  guess  how  much  Plautus  and  Terence 
owed  to  Menander.  It  seems  clear  that,  as  between  the 
two,  Plautus  contributed  more  than  did  Terence,  of  the 
personal,  and  more,  likewise,  of  the  national,  element,  to 

217 


218  CLASSIC  LATIN  COURSE  IN  ENGLISH. 

qualify  his  adaptations  from  the  Greek.  In  both  cases  alike, 
however,  the  result  is  a  mixed  product,  rather  puzzling  to  our 
natural  sense  of  fitness  and  consistency.  The  Roman  play 
had  its  scene  laid  somewhere  in  Hellas,  the  names  of 
persons  were  chiefly  Greek,  the  life  represented  was  rather 
Greek  than  Roman  ;  and  yet  Roman  civil  institutions  and 
Roman  traits  of  manners  were  introduced,  quite  as  if  the 
comic  writer  were  unconscious  of  unkindly  mixing  things 
that  differed ;  or  else  as  if  this  very  mixing  itself  were  trusted 
to  by  him  for  enhancing  his  comic  effect.  Probably  both 
writer  and  spectator  were  sufficiently  uncritical,  neither;  on 
the  one  hand,  to  be  disturbed  by  the  incongruity,  nor,  on  the 
other  hand,  distinctly  to  enjoy  the  incongruity,  as  an  element 
of  humor.  We  know  from  Terence  that  his  audience  was 
difficult ;  but  it  was  by  no  means  to  their  being  over-critical 
that  the  difficulty  of  his  audience  was  due.  Quite  to  the  con- 
trary. They  were  childish  and  frisky  to  a  degree.  Terence, 
in  one  of  his  comedies,  begs  his  audience  to  give  him  a  chance 
with  them.  They  had,  it  would  seem,  those  half-civilized 
Romans,  a  reprehensible  habit  of  flinging  out  of  the  play- 
house upon  occasion,  in  the  midst  of  the  play — if,  for  example, 
they  happened  to  hear  the  sound  outside  of  anything  going 
forward  (boxing,  it  might  be,  rope-dancing,  a  gladiatorial 
show,  a  procession  in  the  street)  that  promised  diversion  at 
less  cost  to  them  of  brain  than  the  comedy  in  progress 
required.  So  the  comedist  of  Terence's  time  had  his  trials. 
Plautus  was  of  the  people.  Terence  was  cultivated  some- 
what away  from  the  people.  There  is  a  considerably  stronger 
smack  of  real  Roman  character  and  life  in  Plautus  than  in 
Terence.  Plautus  lived  to  old  age,  and  produced  a  good  many 
plays.  Terence  died  young,  and  brought  out  only  six  plays  in 
all.  Plautus  had  to  work  for  his  daily  bread.  Terence  be- 
came the  favorite  of  the  great  and  lived  very  much  at  his  ease. 
Neither  poet  was  a  native  Roman.  Plautus  was  of  the 


PLAUTUS  AND  TERENCE.  219 

district  of  Umbria,  in  Italy.  Terence  is  said  to  have  been 
a  Carthaginian.  Plautus  is  a  nickname,  meaning  "flatfoot." 
The  name  Terence — Te-ren'tius  is  the  Latin  form — was  prob- 
ably given  to  the  bearer  from  the  name  of  his  patron,  the 
Roman  patrician  that  freed  him.  For  Terence  was  either  born 
slave,  or  else  had  become  slave  by  fortune  of  war.  Titus 
Mac'ci-us  Plautus  was  the  full  name  of  the  one — Publius 
Terentius  ATer  [African]  of  the  other. 

Plautus  was  a  natural  dramatist.  He  is  full  of  movement 
and  life.  There  is  in  his  comedies  an  incessant  bustle  of 
change  going  forward.  The  plot  may  stand  still,  but  the  play 
does  not.  There  is  at  least  activity,  if  there  is  no  action. 
Your  attention  is  never  suffered  for -a  moment  to  flag. 

Terence,  on  the  other  hand,  depends  more  upon  what  the 
eye  cannot  see.  There  is  an  element  of  reflection  introduced. 
Terence,  herein,  as  we  guess,  more  nicely  responds,  than  does 
Plautus,  to  the  genius  and  method  of  their  common  Greek 
original,  Menander.  Both  writers  are  sufficiently  coarse  ;  but 
Plautus,  as  more  Roman,  is  coarser  than  Terence.  Neither 
seems  to  care  for  any  moral  lesson  to  be  enforced.  Each  seeks 
to  amuse,  not  at  all  to  amend,  his  audience.  There  can  be 
little  doubt  that  the  practical  tendency  of  both  alike  was  to 
deprave  the  moral  tone  of  Roman  character.  The  influence 
exerted  for  bane  by  such  importations  from  Greece  as  Plautus 
and  Terence  purveyed  for  the  amusement  of  Rome,  may  be 
likened  to  the  influence  exerted  by  licentious  French  ballets 
and  licentious  French  operas,  working,  through  English 
adaptations,  to  debauch  the  taste  and  morals  of  England  or 
America.  It  was  an  evil  hour  for  Rome,  when  she  began  to  be 
accustomed  to  see  reverend  old  age  flouted  in  the  comic  thea- 
ter, and  to  laugh  there  at  trickeries  and  knaveries,  practiced  at 
the  expense  of  everything  that  was  holy  in  home  life  and 
in  the  conjugal  relation.  It  is  a  sad  lesson  in  enlightened 
pagan  manners,  the  lesson  that  we  learn  from  Plautus  and 


220  CLASSIC  LATIN  COURSE  IN  ENGLISH. 

Terence.  The  canker  is  in  them  somewhat  opened  to  view, 
that  secretly  worked  beneath  the  gallant  show  of  full- 
flowering  Roman  life  and  character. 

We  are  limited  in  our  choice  from  among  the  works  of 
Plautus  and  Terence,  by  the  inseparable  moral  character  of 
their  comedies.  Hardly,  indeed,  could  any  single  play  out  of 
the  whole  number  be  presented  here  entire.  We  must  use 
care  in  choosing,  and  then  we  must  also  expurgate  with  care. 
On  the  whole,  we  shall  go  pretty  safely,  if,  for  Plautus,  we 
take  the  play  selected  some  time  ago  for  representation  by 
the  young  ladies  of  Washington  University,  in  St.  Louis. 
This  is  "Rudens,"  or  "The  Shipwreck,"  as  the  name  some- 
times is  given.  Rudens  means  "rope."  A  fisherman's  rope 
plays  an  important  part  in  the  action.  A  violent  tempest 
at  sea  occurs,  whence  the  title  "Shipwreck."  One  almost 
ventures  to  be  reminded  of  The  Tempest  of  Shakespeare. 
(By  permission,  we  here  use  the  Washington  University 
translation,  throughout  the  play.) 

The  speaker  of  the  prologue  is  Arc-tu'rus,  a  star,  supposed  to 
bode  wind  and  storm.  Probably  the  actor  who  personated 
Arcturus  displayed  a  decoration  in  the  form  of  a  brilliant  star. 
The  appointments  of  the  comic  theater  in  Rome  were  simple 
and  rude.  In  the  time  of  Plautus  and  Terence,  there  was 
not  even  a  permanent  building  devoted  to  theatric  representa- 
tion. A  wooden  structure,  hastily  thrown  together,  and 
temporary  in  its  design,  was  made  to  answer  the  purpose. 
Not  until  Pompey's  time  was  there  a  durable  theater  of 
stone.  Imagine,  then,  an  actor  designated  and  illustrated 
with  a  star,  perhaps  on  his  forehead,  appearing  before  the 
expectant  audience,  and,  at  the  beginning  of  the  representa- 
tion, delivering  himself  of  the  following  prologue  : 

Splendid  and  glowing,  a  subject  am  I 
Of  the  king  of  the  bright  constellations, 
Rising  as  pleases  my  own  sovereign  will, 


PLAUTUS  AND  TERENCE.  221 

Both  on  earth  and  above  in  the  heavens. 

Nightly  I  shine  in  the  clear  azure  sky, 

And  there  with  celestials  hold  converse ; 

Daily  I  walk  midst  the  dwellings  of  men, 

And  am  worshiped  on  earth  as  Arcturus. 

Now  I  will  show  you  the  reason  I  came, 

And  will  tell  you  the  plot  of  this  story. 

Diph'i-lus  wished  that  the  name  of  this  town 

(To  the  right  of  you  here)  be  Cyrene. 

Here  in  this  villa  o'erlooking  the  sea, 

Dwells  one  Dsemones,  exiled  from  Athens. 

Not  on  account  of  his  own  wicked  deeds, 

But  through  services  rendered  to  others, 

Lost  he  his  fortune  and  lost  he  his  home, 

And  grows  gray  here  in  want  and  in  sorrow. 

Once  a  young  daughter  had  smoothed  from  his  brow 

Every  wrinkle  that  care  might  have  wrought  there ; 

She  in  her  youth  had  been  stolen  away, 

And  been  sold  to  a  wicked  slave-dealer. 

Fate  had  ordained  that  the  girl  should  be  brought 

To  this  town  near  the  home  of  her  father. 

Here,  while  returning  one  day  from  her  school, 

She  was  seen  by  the  youth  Ples-i-dip'pus ; 

Beauty  and  grace  gave  her  wonderful  charms, 

And  in  haste  to  her  master  he  hurried, 

Purchased  the  girl  for  himself  with  bright  gold, 

And  bound  with  an  oath  the  slave-dealer. 

This  one,  however,  did  shame  to  his  trade, 

If  he  cared  e'en  a  straw  for  his  pledges. 

He  had  a  guest,  a  Sicilian  old  man, 

Who  had  fled  from  his  home,  Ag-ri-gen'tum : 

This  one  declares  that  the  place  in  the  world, 

Which  is  best  for  his  host  and  his  business, 

Sicily,  home  of  his  youth  and  his  crime, 

Is  the  market  for  slaves  and  slave-dealers. 

Soon  he  obtains  the  vile  master's  consent, 

And  they  hire  a  ship,  but  in  secret ; 

That  which  is  needed  by  night  they  convey 

To  the  ship,  and  make  ready  for  starting. 

Vows  to  the  temple  of  Venus,  he  says 

To  the  youth,  are  the  cause  of  his  going. 

(This  is  the  temple  at  which  he  pretends 

He  is  going  to  pay  his  devotions.) 

Thither  he  asks  that  the  youth  will  soon  come,    - 

And  invites  him  to  join  him  at  breakfast. 


222  CLASSIC  LATIN  COURSE  IN  ENGLISH. 

Others  make  clear  to  the  youth  what  this  means, 

That  the  scoundrel  has  only  deceived  him. 

He,  when  he  comes  to  the  harbor,  perceives 

That  the  ship  is  quite  lost  in  the  distance. 

I,  since  I  know  that  the  girl  has  by  fraud 

Been  taken  away  from  Gyrene, 

Raise  a  great  storm  that  both  brings  her  swift  aid, 

And  destruction  at  once  to  her  master, 

He  and  his  guest  are  thrown  out  by  the  waves, 

And  barely  escape  death  by  swimming. 

She  and  a  hand-maid  leap  into  a  skiff, 

And  are  driven  ashore  by  the  tempest, 

Here  by  the  house  of  her  father  unknown, 

Whose  tiling  the  storm-wind  has  injured. 

This  is  his  slave  who  is  just  coming  out, 

And  the  youth  Plesidippus,  the  lover, 

Soon  will  appear.    Fare  you  well,  and  be  strong. 

That  your  enemies  all  may  be  vanquished. 

The  "Argument"  prefixed  to  the  play  is  further  helpful 
to  the  understanding  of  the  dramatic  design : 

"A  fisherman  drew  up  from  the  sea  with  his  net  a  wallet, 
which  contained  the  trinkets  of  his  master's  daughter,  who 
having  been  stolen  in  her  youth,  was  now  owned  by  a  slave- 
dealer.  Thrown  ashore  in  a  shipwreck,  she  came,  without  her 
knowledge,  under  the  protection  of  her  own  father.  She  was 
recognized  and  married  to  her  lover,  Ples-i-dip'pus." 

8ce-par/nio  is  a  slave  of  Dse'mon-es.  Dsemones  is  the  man 
to  whom  the  lost  girl  of  the  play  will  be  restored,  as  his 
daughter.  Sceparnio,  with  Dsemones,  stands  on  the  shore 
watching  the  fortunes  of  a  skiff  struggling  in  the  surf.  His 
description  of  what  he  sees  is  life-like.  It  is  a  very  good 
specimen  of  dramatic  vision.  "What  is  it  you  see?"  asks 
Dsemones.  Sceparnio  replies : 

Sceparnio.  Two  women  seated  alone  in  a  skiff !  Poor  wretches ! 
how  they  are  tossed  about  1  Well  done  I  Well  done !  First-rate ! 
The  wave  has  turned  the  skiff  from  the  rock  toward  the  shore! 
No  pilot  could  have  done  better.  I  never  saw  higher  waves. 
They're  all  right,  if  they  avoid  those  waves.  Now !  now,  look  out ! 
See  how  one  of  them  is  thrown  out !  But  she's  in  shallow  water. 


PLAUTUS  AND  TERENCE.  228 

She  will  easily  swim  out.  Well  done !  She's  all  right.  She  has 
got  out  of  the  water.  Now  she's  on  the  shore.  The  other  one  has 
jumped  from  the  skiff  into  the  water.  See  her  fall  on  her  knees  in 
the  water !  There,  she  is  up !  If  she  turns  this  way,  she's  safe.  If 
she  goes  to  the  right,  she'll  be  badly  off!  She'll  wander  around 
to-day,  I  guess. 

Dcemones.    What  difference  does  it  make  to  you,  Sceparnio  ? 

Sc.  If  she  falls  down  from  that  rock  whither  she  is  going,  she'll 
shorten  her  wandering. 

Dee.  If  you're  going  to  dine  with  them  to-day,  Sceparnio,  look 
after  them,  of  course ;  but  if  you  are  going  to  eat  with  me,  I  wish 
you'd  attend  to  me. 

Sc.    That's  only  fair. 

Dee.    Then  follow  me. 

Sc.    All  right. 

The  cool  indifference  exhibited  by  the  master  Deemones  is 
well  contrasted  against  the  lively  interest,  of  sympathy,  or  of 
curiosity,  shown  by  the  slave  Sceparnio.  If  readers  find  pro- 
vincialisms in  the  English  rendering,  such  provincialisms 
they  may  take  to  represent  the  unconventional  freedom  of 
the  original  Latin. 

The  two  women — one  of  whom  is  Pa-lses'tra,  the  lost 
daughter,  still  claimed  by  the  slave-dealer  La'brax  as  his 
property — finally  get  safe  to  land,  but  separately,  each  think- 
ing the  other  is  drowned.  The  coming  together  of  the  two 
must  have  been  a  very  amusing  representation,  as  managed 
by  the  playwright  and  the  scene-master  between  them.  A 
ledge  or  cliff  of  rock  kept  the  two  women  from  seeing  each 
other,  while  still  they  could  hear  each  the  other's  voice. 
The  audience,  meantime,  could  see  both  the  two  persons  of 
the  action.  Each  has  been  soliloquizing  aloud,  within  hear- 
ing of  the  other — when  Palsestra  speaks  : 

Palcestra.    Whose  voice  sounds  near  me  ? 
Ampelisca.    I  am  afraid ;  who  is  talking  here  ? 
Pa.    Good  Hope,  I  beg  you  come  to  my  aid. 
Am.    It  is  a  woman ;  a  woman's  voice  reaches  my  ears.    Wont 
you  free  me,  wretch  that  I  am,  from  this  dread? 
Pa.    Surely  it's  a  woman's  voice  I  hear.    Is  it  Am-pe-lis'ca,  pray? 
Am.    Do  I  hear  you,  Palaestra  ? 


224  CLASSIC  LATIN  COURSE  IN  ENGLISH. 

Pa.  Why  don't  I  call  her  by  her  name,  so  that  she'll  know  me? 
Ampelisca ! 

Am.    Hem !    Who  is  it  ? 

Pa.    It  is  I. 

Am.    Is  that  you,  Palaestra  ? 

Pa.    Yes. 

Am.    Where  are  you  ? 

Pa.    By  Pollux,  in  the  greatest  evil. 

Am.    I'm  no  better  off  myself.    But  I  long  to  see  you. 

Pa.    And  I  you. 

Am.    Let's  follow  the  voice  with  the  footsteps.    Where  are  you  ? 

Pa.    Here  I  am.    Come  this  way. 

Am.    I'm  coming  as  well  as  I  can. 

Pa.    Give  me  your  hand. 

Am.    Here  it  is. 

Pa.    Are  you  alive?    Speak,  pray. 

Am.  You  make  me  want  to  live,  now  that  I  have  you.  I  can 
scarcely  believe  that  I  do  have  you.  Embrace  me,  my  love. 
How  you  relieve  me  of  all  my  troubles. 

Pa.    That  was  what  I  was  going  to  say. 

The  humor  of  the  foregoing  passage,  of  course,  lies  in  the 
situation  rather  than  in  the  dialogue.  The  success  of  it 
with  an  audience  would  depend  upon  the  scenery  and  the 
acting.  Still  the  merit  of  the  conception — whatever  that 
merit  may  be — belongs  to  the  original  inventor.  Who  the 
original  inventor  was,  nobody  knows.  Perhaps  Plautus  him- 
self, perhaps  Menander,  Diph'i-lus,  or  some  other  Greek  now 
nameless. 

The  two  girls  make  their  way  to  a  temple  of  Venus  not 
far  off,  where  they  are  kindly  welcomed  by  the  priestess. 

There  are  some  gaps  in  the  text  of  Plautus,  and,  besides 
this,  the  translators  whom  we  follow,  very  judiciously  make, 
as  we  have  said,  omissions  here  and  there.  The  scene  now 
to  be  given  is  on  the  border-line  between  proper  and  im- 
proper ;  but  it  will  afford  an  instructive  hint  of  what  Roman 
comedists  purveyed  for  their  audience.  Ampelisca,  Palaestra's 
companion  in  shipwreck  and  in  hair-breadth  escape,  has  been 
despatched  by  the  priestess  of  Venus  to  fetch  water  from  the 


PLATJTUS  AND  TERENCE.  225 

house  of  Dsemones.    She  raps  at  the  door  and  is  answered 
by  our  friend  the  slave  Sceparnio. 

Sceparnio.    Who's  making  such  a  racket  at  our  door  ? 

Ampelisca.    I  am. 

Sc.  Ha !  What  good  fortune  is  this?  By  Pollux,  what  a  pretty 
woman ! 

Am.    Good  morning,  young  man. 

Sc.    You're  welcome,  my  lady. 

Am.    I'm  coming  to  your  house. 

Sc.  I'll  receive  you  hospitably ;  but  what  do  you  want,  my  pretty 
one? 

Am.    O,  you're  too  familiar.    (He  chucks  her  under  the  chin.) 

Sc.  Immortal  gods !  she's  the  very  image  of  Venus !  What 
lovely  eyes !  What  a  pretty  figure !  She's  quite  dark— I  mean 
to  say,  a  handsome  brunette. 

Am.    I'm  no  dish  for  the  village.    Take  your  hands  off  me ! 

Sc.    Can't  one  touch  you  prettily,  my  pretty  one  ? 

Am.  At  another  time  I'll  give  you  opportunity  for  a  flirtation. 
Now  I'd  like  you  to  say  yes  or  no  to  the  errand  I'm  sent  on. 

Sc.    What  do  you  want  ? 

Am.    Any  one  with  good  sense  would  know  by  what  I  carry. 

Sc.  And  any  one  with  good  sense  would  know  my  errand  by  my 
attire. 

Am.    The  priestess  of  Venus  told  me  to  ask  for  water  here. 

Sc.  But  I'm  of  royal  descent,  and  wont  give  you  a  drop  unless 
you  beg  me.  We  dug  this  well  at  our  own  risk  and  with  our  own 
tools.  You  wont  get  a  drop  from  me  without  a  great  deal  of 
coaxing. 

Am.  Why  are  you  so  stingy  with  your  water,  which  even  an 
enemy  gives  an  enemy? 

Sc.  And  why  are  you  so  stingy  with  your  love,  which  a  citizen 
gives  a  citizen  ? 

Am.    Well,  my  darling,  I'll  do  everything  you  wish. 

Sc.  Good!  I'm  all  right  now;  she  calls  me  her  darling.  I'll 
give  you  water ;  you  sha'n't  love  me  in  vain ;  give  me  your  pitcher. 

Am.    Take  it.    Hasten,  pray,  and  bring  it  back. 

Sc.    Wait ;  I'll  soon  be  back,  my  dear.    (Exit  Sceparnio.) 

While  Sceparnio  is  gone  for  the  water — to  Ampelisca's  dis- 
may, Labrax,  the  slave-dealer,  appears  on  the  shore.  Am- 
pelisca had  thought  he  was  happily  drowned  and  out  of  the 
way.  She  runs  off,  and  Sceparnio  coming  back  finds  her 
gone.  He  had  been  chuckling  to  himself  over  his  luck  in 


226  CLASSIC  LATIN  COURSE  IN  ENGLISH. 

having  a  chance  to  flirt  with  Ampelisca.     When  he  reappears 
with  the  water,  he  is  speaking  aloud  : 

Sc.  O,  immortal  gods !  I  never  believed  there  was  so  much 
pleasure  in  drawing  water;  with  how  much  delight  I  drew  it. 
The  well  never  seemed  so  shallow;  why,  I  got  it  up  without  a 
bit  of  trouble.  Haven't  I  been  a  fool  never  to  have  fallen  in 
love  before!  Here's  your  water,  my  beauty.  There,  I  want  you 
to  carry  it  off  with  as  much  pleasure  as  I  bring  it ;  so  that  you  may 
please  me.  But  where  are  you,  my  dear?  Take  this  water,  if  you 
please.  Where  are  you  ?  I  believe  she's  in  love  with  me !  She's 
hiding.  Where  are  you?  Wont  you  take  this  pitcher?  Where 
are  you  ?  (Gets  more  earnest.)  You  play  nicely,  but  now  really  be 
serious.  Wont  you  take  the  pitcher  ?  (Begins  to  get  angry.)  Where 
in  the  world  are  you?  I  don't  see  her  anywhere;  by  Hercules, 
she's  making  game  of  me !  ( In  a  rage.)  I'll  put  this  pitcher  right 
down  in  the  middle  of  the  road.  (Starts  off  but  comes  back  slowly, 
reflecting.)  But  what  if  some  one  should  carry  off  this  sacred  urn 
of  Venus  ?  It  might  get  me  into  trouble.  By  Hercules,  I  fear  lest 
this  woman  has  laid  some  plot  that  I  may  be  caught  with  the 
sacred  urn  of  Venus  in  my  possession.  The  officers  would,  very 
justly,  make  me  die  in  prison,  if  any  one  should  see  me  have  this. 
(Examines  it  more  closely.)  For  here's  an  inscription  on  it ;  this 
tells  whose  it  is!  Now,  by  Hercules,  I'll  call  the  priestess  of 
Venus  out  of  doors  to  take  the  pitcher.  (Goes  up  and  knocks  at  the 
temple.)  Halloo !  Ptol-e-mo-cra'tia !  If  you  please,  come  and 
take  this  pitcher.  Some  woman  or  other  brought  it  to  me.  It  must 
be  carried  in.  ( Aside.)  I  have  found  work  enough,  if  I'm  to  carry 
water  in  to  them.  (Goes  into  the  temple.) 

One  can  hear  the  roars  of  Roman  laughter  with  which  this 
scene  would  be  greeted.  The  drollery  is  broad  enough  to 
be  appreciated  by  everybody,  as  the  acting  would  bring  the 
points  sharply  out. 

There  is  a  scene  now  between  Labrax,  the  slave-dealer, 
and  his  friend  Char'mi-des.  These  worthies,  having  lost 
everything,  bemoan  themselves  and  chide  each  other.  La- 
brax had  had  a  wallet  that  contained  all  his  valuables.  This 
is  gone  now,  and  the  two  pretty  slave-girls  are  gone.  Labrax 
is  wretched.  Slave-dealer  we  have  called  this  fellow,  but  he 
in  truth  was  slave-dealer  of  a  particular  sort,  a  sort  especially 
infamous  even  with  the  ancients.  He  was  a  procurer. 


PLAUTUS  AND  TERENCE.  227 

Sceparnio,  coming  out  of  the  temple,  meets  Labrax  and 
Charmides.  There  is  some  racy  talk  between  him  and  them, 
in  which  Sceparnio  vents  his  ill-humor  amusingly  at  their  ex- 
pense. But  he  lets  out  the  secret  that  Labrax's  slave-girls  are 
in  sanctuary  within. 

We  have  thus  got  through  two  acts  of  the  comedy.  The 
third  act  introduces  another  set  of  characters.  Plesidippus, 
Palaestra's  lover,  a  young  Athenian,  appears  upon  the  scene — 
first,  however,  by  proxy,  in  the  person  of  his  confidential  slave 
Tra-cha/lio.  Trachalio  raises  an  uproarious  hue  and  cry  in 
the  street.  Cyrenians  all  are  adjured  to  render  help.  The  in- 
coherent alarum  of  his  outcry  engages  the  attention  of  Dse- 
mones.  Very  diverting  is  the  back  and  forth  between  these 
two,  while  Daemones  tries  to  learn  from  Trachalio  what  the 
pother  is  all  about.  The  upshot  is  that  several  slaves  of 
Dsemones  rush  into  the  temple  to  rescue  the  girls  and  to 
thrash  Labrax.  The  sound  of  this  is  heard  outside.  The 
girls  meantime  issue  from  the  temple  and  Trachalio  seeks  to 
reassure  them.  There  follows  a  long  scene  of  brisk  dialogue, 
with  Daemones,  Trachalio,  and  Labrax  for  interlocutors.  It  is 
a  triangular  contest  of  menace,  abuse,  and  braggadocio.  The 
frank  brutality  of  it  would  no  doubt  be  highly  refreshing  to 
the  groundlings  of  the  ancient  comic  theater.  The  flavor  is 
rich  and  strong.  Of  course,  Labrax  has,  on  the  whole,  the 
worst  of  it.  He  gives  up  getting  his  slave  property  by  force. 

Plesidippus  is  now  at  hand  in  person.  Labrax,  in  vain 
imploring  help,  spurned  as  he  is  from  every  quarter,  is 
dragged  off  to  be  tried  for  fraud  committed  by  him  in  taking 
earnest-money  from  Plesidippus  for  Palaestra,  and  then  run- 
ning off  with  her  to  sea.  The  lively  dialogue  through  which 
the  foregoing  result  is  reached,  brings  out  contrasted  character 
admirably.  Plautus  is  a  true  dramatist. 

The  fourth  act  hints  the  approaching  denouement.  Gripus, 
fisherman,  makes  his  appearance.  Gripus  has  fished  up  La- 


228  CLASSIC  LATIN  COUKSE  IN  ENGLISH. 

brax's  lost  wallet  with  its  valuable  contents.  This  wallet  will 
turn  out  to  contain  the  keepsake  trinkets  proving  Palaestra  the 
long-lost  daughter  of  Dsemones.  Gripus  is  in  the  act  of  hiding 
his  treasure-trove,  all  the  while  purring  aloud  to  himself  over 
his  good  luck,  when  Trachalio  comes  up.  There  is  an  amus- 
ing confabulation  between  the  two  men,  too  long  drawn  out 
for  us  to  print  here,  but  animated  and  very  racy  of  character. 
The  result  is  that  Trachalio,  having  caught  sight  of  Gripus's 
find,  succeeds,  by  dint  of  threat  and  persistency,  in  getting 
that  fisherman  to  submit  the  question  of  ownership  in  the 
wallet  to  Dsemones,  as  convenient  arbiter.  Gripus  is  well  con- 
tent to  have  it  so — Dsemones,  although  the  other  does  not 
know  this,  being  Gripus's  indulgent  master.  The  scene  that 
ensues,  when  the  matter  is  referred  to  Dsemones,  has  in- 
terest enough,  both  of  dramatic  dialogue  and  of  dramatic 
development,  to  be  shown  our  readers.  It  will  very  well  illus- 
trate the  lively  bustle  of  movement  that  fills  a  comedy  of 
Plautus.  The  cruel  relation  of  master  and  slave  has  a  grateful 
relief — probably  true  to  many  instances  of  real  life — in  the 
representation  of  Gripus's  freedom  of  manner  with  Dsemones. 
The  kindliness  happily  then  as  now  inborn  in  some  natures, 
was  not  always  quite  spoiled  by  the  evil  influence  of  despotic 
power,  such  as  the  master  possessed  over  his  slave. 

Dsemones  is  just  answering  the  appeal  of  the  shipwrecked 
girls,  as  the  fourth  scene  of  the  fourth  act  opens.  At  the 
self-same  moment,  the  contestants,  Gripus  and  Trachalio, 
arrive.  It  is  a  duel  between  these  two,  which  of  them  shall 
get  the  ear  of  Dsemones.  Now  the  text  of  the  play,  con- 
densed : 

Gr.  Hail,  master ! 

Dee.  Hail,  what's  going  on  ? 

2V.  Is  this  fellow  your  slave  ? 

Gr.  He's  not  ashamed  of  it. 

2V.  I'm  not  talking  to  you. 

Gr.  Then  go  away  from  here,  I  beg. 


PLAUTUS  AND  TEBENCE.  229 

Tr.    Pray,  answer,  old  gentleman,  is  this  your  slave  ? 
Dee.    He  is. 

Or.    Really,  if  you  had  any  shame,  you'd  go  away  from  here. 

Dee.    Gripus,  pay  attention,  and  be  silent. 

Or.    And  he  speak  first  ? 

Dee.    (To  Gripus)    Listen.    (To  Traehalio)    You  speak. 

Or.    Will  you  let  another's  slave  speak  before  your  own  ? 

Tr.  Pshaw !  how  hard  it  is  to  check  that  fellow.  As  I  began  to 
say,  this  one  has  the  wallet  of  the  slave-dealer  whom  you  thrust 
out  of  the  temple  of  Venus  a  short  time  ago. 

Or.  If  I  caught  it  in  the  sea  with  my  net,  how  is  it  more 
yours  than  mine? 

Tr.  Until  the  first  speaker  gets  through,  silence  this  fellow, 
pray,  if  he  's  yours. 

Or.  What,  you  wish  that  inflicted  on  me  which  your  master 
is  accustomed  to  administer  to  you  ?  If  he 's  used  to  checking  you 
that  way,  not  so  my  master. 

Dee.  He 's  got  ahead  of  you  in  that  speech.  What  do  you  want 
now?  Tell  me. 

Tr.  There  is  in  that  wallet  a  little  casket  belonging  to  this 
woman,  who,  I  lately  said,  had  been  free.  .  .  .  Those  trinkets, 
which  she  had  long  ago  as  a  child,  are  in  the  casket.  That  slave  of 
yours  has  no  use  for  this,  and  it  will  afford  help  to  that  wretched 
girl,  if  he  will  give  her  that  by  which  she  may  find  her  parents. 

Dee.    I'll  make  him  give  it  up ;  be  quiet. 

Or.    By  Hercules,  I'm  not  going  to  give  anything  to  him. 

Tr.    I  demand  nothing  but  the  casket  and  the  trinkets. 

Or.    What,  if  these  are  golden  ? 

Tr.  What  is  that  to  you  ?  Gold  will  be  given  for  gold,  silver  for 
silver. 

Or.    Let  me  see  the  gold ;  then  I'll  let  you  see  the  casket. 

Dee.  (To  Gripus)  Take  care  and  hold  your  tongue.  (To  Tra- 
ehalio) You  proceed  as  you  began. 

Tr.  I  ask  of  you  one  thing,  that  you  pity  this  woman,  if  this 
is  the  wallet  of  that  slave- dealer,  as  I  suspect.  I  do  not  affirm  this 
as  a  certainty,  but  I  think  it  is. 

Or.    Do  you  see  how  the  villain  is  laying  his  snares  ? 

Tr.  Permit  me  to  speak,  as  I  began.  If  this  wallet  belongs 
to  that  rascal  whom  I  have  named,  the  articles  can  be  identified ; 
order  him  to  show  them  to  these  girls. 

Or.    What  do  you  say  ?    To  show  them  ? 

Dee.    He  asks  but  what  is  just — that  the  wallet  be  shown. 

Or.    Nay,  by  Hercules,  it  is  flagrantly  unjust. 

Dee.    Why,  pray  ? 


230  CLASSIC  LATIN  COUBSE  IN  ENGLISH. 

Or.  Because,  if  I  show  it,  straightway  they  will  declare  that 
they  recognize  it. 

2V.  Source  of  villainy,  do  you  judge  all  men  by  yourself? 
Fount  of  perjury ! 

Gr.  I  can  grin  and  bear  your  abuse,  if  only  my  master  sides 
with  me. 

2V.  But  now  he  's  on  the  other  side ;  he  will  get  the  truth  out 
of  the  wallet. 

DOB.  (To  Gfripus)  Gripus,  pay  attention.  (To  Trachalio)  State 
briefly  what  you  want. 

2V.  I  have  said  truly;  but  if  you  didn't  understand  I'll  say 
it  again.  Both  of  these  girls,  as  I  said  a  short  time  ago,  ought  to  be 
free.  This  maiden,  when  a  child,  was  stolen  from  Athens. 

Or.  May  Jupiter  and  the  gods  destroy  you !  What  are  you  say- 
ing, hangman  ?  What,  are  those  girls  dumb,  that  they  can't  speak 
for  themselves?  .  .  .  (To  Dcemones)  Pray,  am  I  to  talk  at  all 
to-day  ? 

Dee.    If  you  say  one  word  more,  I'll  break  your  head. 

2V.  As  I  began  to  say,  old  gentleman,  I  beg  you  would  order 
this  slave  to  return  the  casket  to  them.  If  he  asks  any  reward  for 
this,  it  shall  be  given.  Whatever  else  there  is  in  it  he  can  have  for 
himself. 

Or.  Now,  at  length,  you  say  that,  since  you  see  it  is  my  right. 
A  while  ago  you  claimed  half. 

DOB.    Can't  I  check  you  without  a  beating  ? 

Or.  If  he  is  silent,  I  will  be  silent ;  if  he  speaks,  let  me  speak  in 
my  own  behalf. 

Dee.    Give  me  now  the  wallet,  Gripus. 

Or.  I  will  trust  it  to  you,  but  on  the  condition  that  if  none  of 
those  things  are  in  it,  it  shall  be  returned. 

Dee.    It  shall  be  returned. 

Or.    Take  it.    (He  gives  Dcemones  the  wallet.) 

Dee.  Hear  now,  Palaestra  and  Ampelisca,  what  I  say :  Is  this 
the  wallet  in  which  he  said  your  casket  was? 

Pa.  I  will  easily  make  this  thing  clear  to  you.  There  must  be 
in  this  matter  a  wooden  casket.  I  will  call  over  the  names  of  every 
thing  therein ;  you  will  show  nothing  to  me.  If  I  shall  speak 
falsely,  I  shall  speak  to  no  purpose.  Then  you  will  have  for  your- 
self whatever  there  is  in  it.  But  if  I  speak  the  truth,  then  I  beg 
you,  that  my  property  may  be  returned  to  me. 

Dee.    That  pleases  me.    I  think  you  speak  fairly. 

Or.  By  Hercules,  I  think  she  speaks  very  unfairly.  What,  if 
she  is  a  sorceress  or  a  witch,  and  shall  mention  truly  the  names  of 
all  things  therein  ?  Shall  the  witch  have  it  ? 


PLAUTUS  AND  TERENCE.  231 

Dee.  She'll  not  take  it  off,  unless  she  speaks  the  truth.  She'll 
act  the  witch  in  vain.  Open  the  wallet,  then,  that  as  soon  as 
possible  I  may  know  the  truth. 

Gr.    He  has  it ;  it  is  open.    Ah,  I  am  lost !    I  see  the  casket. 

Dee.    Is  this  it  ?    (Dcemones  takes  out  the  casket.) 

Pa.  It  is.  O,  my  parents,  here  I  hold  you  inclosed.  Here  I 
have  my  hope  and  means  of  finding  you  stored  away. 

Or.  Then  the  gods  should  be  angry  with  you,  whoever  you 
are,  for  having  boxed  your  parents  up  in  such  a  narrow  place. 

Doe.  Gripus,  come  here;  your  interests  are  at  stake.  You, 
maiden,  tell  from  where  you  are,  what  is  within  this,  and  of  what 
appearance  it  is ;  mention  everything.  If,  by  Hercules,  you  shall 
make  a  mistake,  you'll  not  be  able  hereafter  to  rectify  it ;  you  will 
lose  your  labor  in  the  attempt. 

Or.    You  ask  simple  justice. 

Tr.  (To  Gripits)  By  Pollux,  he  doesn't  ask  it  of  you,  for  you 
are  unjust. 

Dee.    Speak,  now,  girl.    Gripus,  pay  attention  and  be  quiet. 

Pa.    There  are  trinkets  in  it. 

Dee.    Yes,  I  see  them. 

Gr.    I  am  killed  by  the  first  shot ;  hold  on,  don't  show  them. 

Dee.    Of  what  sort  are  they  ?  answer  in  order. 

Pa.    First,  a  little  golden  sword  engraved  with  letters. 

Dee.    Tell  me  now  what  letters  are  on  that  sword. 

Pa.  The  name  of  my  father.  Next  was  a  small  two-edged 
battle-ax,  likewise  golden,  and  also  engraved.  On  the  little  ax 
was  my  mother's  name. 

Dee.    Stay.    Tell  me,  what  is  the  name  of  your  father  on  this  sword. 

Pa.    Dsemones. 

Dee.    Immortal  gods,  where  are  my  hopes  ? 

Gr.    Nay,  rather,  by  Pollux,  where  are  mine? 

Dee.    Continue,  I  beg  you,  at  once. 

Gr.    Softly,  or  go  to  perdition. 

Dee.    Speak,  what  is  your  mother's  name  on  the  little  battle-ax? 

Pa.    Dsedalis. 

Dee.    The  gods  desire  my  safety. 

Gr.    But  my  destruction. 

Dee.    This  must  be  my  daughter,  Gripus. 

Gr.  She  may  be,  for  all  I  care.  ( To  Trachalio)  May  the  gods 
destroy  you  who  saw  me  to-day,  and  myself,  fool  that  I  was,  not  to 
look  around  a  hundred  times  to  take  care  that  none  saw  me,  before 
I  drew  this  from  the  water. 

Pa.  Then  a  little  silver  sickle  and  two  little  hands  joined,  and  a 
windlass. 

Gr.    Confound  you  with  your  pigs  and  swine. 


232  CLASSIC  LATIN  COURSE  IN  ENGLISH. 

Pa.    And  a  golden  bulla  that  my  father  gave  me  on  my  birthday. 

Dee.  It  is  she,  truly.  I  cannot  be  restrained  from  embracing 
her.  Hail,  my  daughter !  I  am  your  father ;  I  am  Dsemones ;  and 
here  within  is  your  mother,  Dsedalis. 

Pa.    Hail,  my  unlooked-for  father  I 

Dee.    Hail !  with  what  pleasure  I  embrace  you. 

2V.    It  is  pleasant  that  your  piety  has  met  its  reward. 

Dee.    Come,  Trachalio,  carry  in  the  wallet. 

Tr.  See  the  knavery  of  Gripus ;  since  you've  had  bad  luck,  I 
congratulate  you,  Gripus. 

Dee.  Come,  my  daughter,  let  us  go  to  your  mother.  She  can 
more  minutely  examine  the  matter,  for  she  took  care  of  you,  and 
knows  all  about  you. 

Tr.    Let  us  all  go  within,  since  we  give  joint  assistance. 

Pa.    Follow  me,  Ampelisca. 

Am.    It  is  a  pleasure  to  me  that  the  gods  befriend  you. 

The  fifth  act  has  little  to  do  but  to  wind  up  the  play,  with 
the  happiest  results  accruing  all  around  to  the  parties  con- 
cerned. Gripus  learns  that  his  master  is  minded  to  restore  the 
wallet  to  the  slave-dealer.  Here  is  a  bit  of  the  colloquy  about 
it  between  master  and  slave  : 

Or.  That's  the  reason  you're  poor,  because  you're  too  awfully 
honest. 

Dee.  O,  Gripus,  Gripus!  shall  I  conceal  what 's brought  to  me, 
when  I  know  it  belongs  to  somebody  else?  Our  Daemones  can't 
do  that  sort  of  thing  anyhow.  It  is  proper  for  wise  men  always  to 
look  out  for  this,  not  to  be  partners  in  guilt  with  their  slaves. 
I  care  nothing  for  money,  except  when  I'm  gaming. 

Or.  I've  seen  actors  in  just  that  very  way  get  off  wise  saws  and 
be  applauded,  when  they  recommended  these  fine  morals  to  the 
people.  But  when  afterwards  everybody  went  home,  no  one  acted 
in  the  way  they  advised. 

Dee.  Go  into  the  house ;  don't  be  bothersome ;  hold  your  tongue, 
I'll  not  give  you  anything ;  don't  you  be  mistaken. 

Or.  Then  I  pray  the  gods,  that  whatever  there  is  in  that  wallet, 
whether  gold  or  silver,  it  may  all  go  to  the  dogs. 

This  free-spoken  slave  had,  for  the  purpose  at  least  of  that 
petulant  moment,  a  low  opinion  of  the  teaching  power  of 
the  drama.  His  petulance  did  not,  perhaps,  in  this  case  lead 
him  widely  astray. 

Gripus  is  by  no  means  at  the  end  of  his  shifts  to  make  some- 


PLAUTUS  AND  TERENCE.  233 

thing  yet  out  of  that  wallet.  He  meets  Labrax  and  drives 
with  him  a  sharp  bargain,  according  to  which,  for  a  handsome 
consideration  in  gold,  he  on  his  own  part  engages  to  get  the 
lost  wallet  restored  to  its  owner  ;  Gripus  will  thus  profit  by  his 
master's  declared  purpose  to  make  the  restitution.  He  binds 
Labrax  by  a  tremendous  oath  to  make  the  promised  pay- 
ment of  money.  Labrax,  however,  though  he  swore  with  his 
lips,  kept  his  mind  unsworn.  Having  got  back  his  wallet 
and,  in  voluntary  requital  to  Dsemones,  relinquished  all  claim 
on  Palaestra,  he  snaps  his  fingers  at  Gripus,  refusing  to  pay 
that  party  in  interest  any  fraction  of  what  he  had  promised. 
Dsemones  overhears  the  two  bandying  words  in  altercation, 
and  intervenes  to  get  justice  done.  The  way  in  which  all 
is  accomplished  affords  good  dramatic  opportunity  for  enter- 
taining dialogue  and  lively  exhibition  of  character.  Gripus  is 
kept  in  suspense,  but  even  he  says  "  All  right "  at  last : 

Dee.    Did  you  promise  money  to  this  slave  ? 

La.    I  confess,  I  did. 

Dee.  What  you  promised  my  slave  ought  to  belong  to  me. 
Slave-dealer,  don't  you  think  you  can  use  a  slave-dealer's  faith 
here ;  you  can't  do  it. 

Gr.  Now  do  you  think  you  have  found  a  man  whom  you  can 
cheat  ?  Good  money  must  be  paid  to  me ;  I'll  give  it  over  to  this 
one  right  off,  that  he  may  set  me  free. 

Dee.  Inasmuch,  therefore,  as  I  have  been  liberal  to  you,  and 
these  things  have  been  saved  to  you  through  my  aid— 

Gr.    Nay,  by  Hercules,  through  mine,  don't  you  say  yours  ! 

Dee.  (Aside  to  Gripus)  If  you're  sharp,  you'll  keep  still.  (To 
Labrax)  Then  it  is  only  fair  for  you  to  be  liberal  to  me,  well 
deserving  it. 

La.    Are  you  forsooth  seeking  my  rights  ? 

Dee.  It  's  a  wonder  I  don't  seek  from  you  your  rights  at  your 
own  peril. 

Gr.    I'm  safe,  the  rascal 's  wavering ;  I  foresee  my  freedom. 

Dee.  This  one  here  found  your  wallet ;  he  is  my  slave.  Further- 
more, I  have  preserved  this  for  you  with  a  great  sum  of  money. 

La.  I  am  grateful  to  you  ;  and  as  for  that  talent  which  I  swore  to 
this  fellow  here,  there  's  no  reason  but  that  you  should  have  it. 

Gr.    Here  you,  give  it  to  me,  then,  if  you're  wise. 


234  CLASSIC  LATIN  COURSE  IN  ENGLISH. 

Dee.    Will  you  keep  still  or  not  ? 

Or.  You  are  just  pretending  to  plead  nay  suit.  By  Hercules,  you 
sha'n't  cheat  me  out  of  this,  if  I  did  have  to  lose  the  rest  of  the  find. 

Dee.    You  shall  have  a  beating  if  you  add  another  word. 

Or.  By  Hercules,  you  may  kill  me!  I'll  never  be  silenced  in 
any  other  way  than  by  a  talent. 

La.    (To  Gripus)    Indeed,  he  is  aiding  you,  keep  still. 

Dee.    Come  this  way,  slave-dealer. 

La.    All  right. 

Or.  Do  this  business  openly  now,  I  don't  want  any  muttering 
nor  whispering. 

Dee.  Tell  me,  how  much  did  you  pay  for  that  other  little  woman 
of  yours,  Ampelisca? 

La.    A  thousand  didrachms. 

Dee.    Are  you  willing  for  me  to  make  you  a  handsome  offer  ? 

La.    Certainly. 

Dee.    I'll  divide  a  talent— 

La.    All  right. 

Dee.  And  you  keep  half  for  this  other  woman,  that  she  may 
be  free,  and  give  half  to  this  boy  here. 

La.    Very  good.     (Pays  Dcemones  a  half  talent.) 

Dee.  For  that  half  I'll  free  Gripus,  through  whom  you  found 
your  wallet,  and  I  my  daughter. 

La.    You  do  well,  I  thank  you  much. 

Or.    How  soon,  then,  is  the  money  going  to  be  given  to  me  ? 

Dee.    The  affair  is  settled,  Gripus,  I've  got  the  money. 

Or.    Yes,  I  know  you've  got  it,  but  I  want  it,  by  Hercules ! 

Dee.  Nothing  of  this  goes  to  you,  and  don't  expect  it.  I  want 
that  you  should  give  him  a  release  from  his  oath. 

Or.  By  Hercules,  I'm  done  for!  Unless  I  hang  myself,  I'm 
lost.  Never  shall  you  cheat  me  again  after  this  day. 

Dee.    Sup  here  to-day,  slave-dealer. 

La.    All  right ;  I'm  delighted  with  the  invitation. 

Dee.  Follow  me  within.  Spectators,  I  would  invite  you  also 
to  supper,  if  I  had  anything  to  give,  and  there  was  enough  at  home 
for  a  feast,  and  I  did  not  believe  you  had  been  invited  elsewhere  to 
supper.  But  if  you  are  willing  to  give  kind  applause  to  this  play, 
then  do  you  all  come  and  banquet  with  me  sixteen  years  hence. 
You  two  shall  sup  here  to-night. 

Or.    All  right. 

All.    Farewell,  dear  friends,  now  give  applause, 
And  happy  live  by  fate's  fixed  laws. 

A  very  satisfactory  upshot  to  the  action  of  the  comedy,  we 
are  sure  all  readers  will  admit. 


PLAUTUS  AND  TERENCE.  235 

Of  Terence  very  brief  presentation  must  suffice.  Let  us 
take  for  our  specimen  the  play  entitled  "  The  Brothers."  For 
this  play,  we  have  the  good  fortune  to  possess  a  translation  in 
verse  by  George  Colman  the  elder.  Though  now  near  a 
hundred  years  old,  it  is  free  from  archaic  quality,  and  it 
runs  off  with  smoothness  and  ease. 

The  prologue  is  a  signally  honest  piece  of  writing.  The 
frank-spokenness  of  it  propitiates  one.  The  author,  who  out- 
right thus  proclaims  his  own  borrowing,  is  at  least  no  sneak 
of  a  plagiarist.  It  will  be  observed  that  Terence's  prologue 
differs  from  Plautus's  in  not  explaining,  as  that  did,  the  plot 
of  the  play.  The  anonymous  allusion  to  Scipio,  as  reported 
collaborator  with  Terence  in  production  of  comedy,  will  not 
escape  the  attention  of  the  reader : 

The  bard,  perceiving  his  piece  cavill'd  at 
By  partial  critics,  and  his  adversaries 
Misrepresenting  what  we're  now  to  play, 
Pleads  his  own  cause :  and  you  shall  be  the  judges, 
Whether  he  merits  praise  or  condemnation. 

The  Synapothnescontes  is  a  piece 
By  Diphilus,  a  comedy  which  Plautus, 
Having  translated,  call'd  COMMOKIKNTES. 
In  the  beginning  of  the  Grecian  play 
There  is  a  youth,  who  rends  a  girl  perforce 
From  a  procurer :  and  this  incident, 
Untouch'd  by  Plautus,  render' d  word  for  word, 
Has  our  bard  interwoven  with  his  Brothers— 
The  new  piece  which  we  represent  to-day. 
Say  then  if  this  be  theft,  or  honest  use 
Of  what  remained  unoccupied.    For  that 
Which  malice  tells,  that  certain  noble  persons 
Assist  the  bard,  and  write  in  concert  with  him  ; 
That  which  they  deem  a  heavy  slander,  he 
Esteems  his  greatest  praise :  that  he  can  please 
Those  who  please  you,  who  all  the  people  please  ; 
Those  who  in  war,  in  peace,  in  council,  ever 
Have  rendered  you  the  dearest  services, 
And  ever  borne  their  faculties  so  meekly. 

Expect  not  now  the  story  of  the  play : 
Part  the  old  men,  who  first  appear,  will  open ; 


236  CLASSIC  LATIN  COURSE  IN  ENGLISH. 

Part  will  in  act  be  shown.    Be  favorable ; 
And  let  your  candor  to  the  poet  now 
Increase  his  future  earnestness  to  write ! 

We  give  an  explication  of  the  plot,  in  the  words  of  an  "  In- 
troduction "  prefixed  to  the  play  as  printed  for  the  use  of 
the  students  in  the  University  of  Michigan  when  these  enter- 
prising young  men  represented  the  piece  in  Latin  : 

"  Its  name,  '  The  Brothers,'  is  derived  from  the  two  pairs  of 
brothers  with  whose  fortunes  the  play  is  chiefly  concerned ; 
Mi'ci-o,  a  town-bred,  good-natured  old  bachelor ;  De'me-a,  a 
thrifty  farmer  and  stern  parent,  and  the  two  sons  of  the  latter. 
One  of  these,  ^aSs'chi-nus,  adopted  by  Micio,  had  been  al- 
lowed by  his  indulgent  uncle  to  fall  into  all  kinds  of  excesses  ; 
the  other,  Ctes'i-pho,  brought  up  on  the  farm,  was  believed  by 
his  rigorous  father  to  be  a  pattern  of  all  virtues,  but  had,  in 
fact,  fallen  in  love  with  a  music-girl  in  the  city.  JEschinus, 
whose  fondness  for  his  brother  is  one  of  the  happiest  touches 
in  the  play,  in  order  to  put  the  girl  in  Ctesipho's  possession 
and  shield  him  from  exposure,  removes  her  by  force  from 
the  slave-merchant's  house.  It  is  at  this  point  of  time  that 
the  play  begins.  Demea,  who  has  just  heard  the  story  of 
the  abduction,  meets  Micio  and  lays  upon  him  the  blame  of 
JEschinus's  misdeeds.  At  the  same  time  Sostrata,  hearing  the 
rumor,  infers  that  he  has  deserted  her  daughter  Pamphila, 
whom  he  had  promised  to  marry,  and  appeals  to  Hegio,  an 
old  friend  of  the  family,  to  see  that  ^Eschinus  is  brought  to 
a  sense  of  his  duty.  Demea,  on  his  way  back  to  the  farm, 
learns  from  Hegio  of  JSschinus's  relations  with  Pamphila, 
and  returning  to  find  Micio,  is  sent  on  a  fool's  errand  to 
various  parts  of  the  city  by  the  cunning  slave  Syrus.  Upon 
his  return  to  the  house  of  Micio  he  finds  that  the  latter  has 
given  his  consent  to  the  marriage  of  .lEschinus  with  Pam- 
phila, and  also  discovers,  to  his  great  astonishment,  that 
Ctesipho  has  outwitted  him,  and  has  been  all  the  time  at  his 


PLAUTUS  AND  TERENCE.  237 

uncle's.  In  the  fifth  act  Demea  becoming  convinced  that  his 
brother  is  in  the  right,  suddenly  changes  character,  becomes 
the  most  indulgent  of  fathers,  and  the  comedy  ends,  as  all  com- 
edies should,  with  the  marriage  of  the  parties  most  interested." 

We  shall  not  be  able  here  to  follow  the  course  of  the  ac- 
tion throughout.  The  play  is  pitched  on  a  low  key  of  mo- 
rality. No  doubt  the  fashion  of  its  time  is  truly  mirrored  in 
it.  The  spirit  in  which  the  Greek  authors  wrote  is  that  of 
easy-going,  rather  good-hearted,  Epicureanism.  The  philos- 
ophy of  life  recommended  is  '  Make  the  best  of  things  about 
as  they  are  ;  do  not  worry  yourself  trying  to  improve  them.' 
Roman  strictness  was  already  in  the  way  of  sadly  relaxing  its 
tone,  when  it  could  contentedly  listen  and  see,  while  such 
maxims  of  conduct  were  set  forth.  We  shall  no  doubt  best 
serve  our  readers  by  presenting  to  them  at  once,  with  little 
retrenchment,  the  fifth,  the  closing,  act  of  the  comedy. 

Demea,  the  country  churl,  of  the  two  brothers,  is  repre- 
sented as  becoming  at  last  an  out-and-out  convert  to  the 
smiling  wisdom  of  Micio,  the  dweller  in  the  city.  The  sud- 
denness and  the  completeness  of  the  conversion,  but  es- 
pecially, too,  the  startlingly  aggressive  propagandist,  or 
missionary,  phase  which  the  conversion  takes  on,  are  an 
essential  element  in  the  comic  effect.  Demea  soliloquizes 
and  resolves  to  adopt  his  popular  brother's  universal  com- 
plaisance. Those  who  have  grown  used  to  only  surliness 
from  Demea,  are  amazed  at  the  change.  A  sentence  of  very 
worldly  wisdom  from  Micio  seems  to  have  done  the  business 
for  Demea.  'Demea,'  says  Micio,  in  effect,  'the  boys  will 
come  out  right  when  they  grow  up.  Spendthrift  youth  quite 
naturally  becomes  miserly  old  age.  That  is  the  law.' 

O  my  dear  Demea,  in  all  matters  else 

Increase  of  years  increases  wisdom  in  us ; 

This  only  vice  age  brings  along  with  it ; 

'  We're  all  more  worldly-minded  than  there's  need : ' 

Which  passion  age,  that  kills  all  passions  else, 


238  CLASSIC  LATIN  COURSE  IN  ENGLISH. 

Will  ripen  in  your  sons,  too. 

Demea  resists  at  the  moment,  but  the  words  work  in  his 
mind,  as  seems  to  show  the  following  soliloquy,  opening 
the  fifth  act : 

Never  did  man  lay  down  so  fair  a  plan, 

So  wise  a  rule  of  life,  but  fortune,  age, 

Or  long  experience,  made  some  change  in  it ; 

And  taught  him,  that  those  things  he  thought  he  knew 

He  did  not  know,  and  what  he  held  as  best, 

In  practice  he  threw  by. 

Striving  to  make  a  fortune  for  my  sons, 

I  have  worn  out  my  prime  of  life  and  health : 

And  now,  my  course  near  finished,  what  return 

Do  I  receive  for  all  my  toil  ?    Their  hate. 

Meanwhile,  my  brother,  without  any  care, 

Reaps  all  a  father's  comforts.    Him  they  love. 

— Well,  then,  let  me  endeavor  in  my  turn 

To  teach  my  tongue  civility,  to  give 

With  open-handed  generosity, 

Since  I  am  challeng'd  to  't ! — and  let  me,  too, 

Obtain  the  love  and  reverence  of  my  children ! 

And  if  'tis  bought  by  bounty  and  indulgence, 

I  will  not  be  behindhand.    Cash  will  fail : 

What 's  that  to  me,  who  am  the  eldest  born  ? 

Demea  has  prompt  opportunity  to  put  his  new  scheme  of 
conduct  into  operation.  Syrus,  the  sly  slave,  who  has,  with 
his  tricks,  cost  Demea  so  much  bootless  trouble,  comes  in, 
bringing  a  message  from  Micio  to  his  brother.  Demea 
swallows  a  great  qualm  of  loathness  and  greets  the  knavish 
fellow  fair : 

Demea.  Who's  there? 

What,  honest  Syrus !  save  you :  how  is  't  with  you  ? 
How  goes  it? 
Syrus.  Very  well,  sir. 

De.    (Aside)  Excellent ! 

Now  for  the  first  time  I,  against  my  nature, 
Have  added  these  three  phrases,  "  Honest  Syrus ! 
How  is  't?— How  goes  it ! " — (To  Syrus)  You  have  proved 

yourself 

A  worthy  servant.    I'll  reward  you  for  it. 
Sy.    I  thank  you,  sir. 


PLAUTUS   AND   TERENCE.  239 

De.  I  will,  I  promise  you  ; 

And  you  shall  be  convinc'd  on  't  very  soon. 

Geta,  another  slave,  not  Demea's  own  (as  also  Syrus  was 
not),  is  the  next  surprised  person.  He  has  just  respectfully 
saluted  Demea,  when,  Demea  replying,  the  following  passage 
between  them,  spiced  to  spectators  with  asides  from  the 
strangely  modified  man,  occurs  : 

De.  Geta,  I  this  day  have  found  you 

To  be  a  fellow  of  uncommon  worth : 

For  sure  that  servant's  faith  is  well  appro v'd 

Who  holds  his  master's  interest  at  heart, 

As  I  perceived  that  you  did,  Geta !    Wherefore, 

Soon  as  occasion  offers  I'll  reward  you. 

(Aside)    I  am  endeavoring  to  be  affable, 

And  not  without  success. 
Ge.  'Tis  kind  in  you 

To  think  of  your  poor  slave,  sir. 
De.    (Aside)  First  of  all, 

I  court  the  mob,  and  win  them  by  degrees. 

uEschinus,  the  scrapegrace  son  of  Demea — spoiled,  as  the 
father  thinks,  through  the  indulgence  of  the  uncle  who  has 
brought  him  up — now  takes  his  turn  of  being  astonished  at 
Demea's  new  humor.  JSschinus  is  impatiently  waiting  to  be 
married  : 

JEschinus.  They  murder  me  with  their  delays ;  and  while 
They  lavish  all  this  pomp  upon  the  nuptials, 
They  waste  the  live-long  day  in  preparation. 
Demea.  How  does  my  son  ? 

JE.  My  father !    Are  you  here  ? 

De.  Ay,  by  affection,  and  by  blood  your  father, 
Who  love  you  better  than  my  eyes.    But  why 
Do  you  not  call  the  bride? 

&.  'Tis  what  I  long  for : 

But  wait  the  music  and  the  singers. 

De.  Pshaw ! 

Will  you  for  once  be  rul'd  by  an  old  fellow  ? 

JE.  Well? 

De.  Ne'er  mind  singers,  company,  lights,  music ; 

But  tell  them  to  throw  down  the  garden  wall, 
As  soon  as  possible.    Convey  the  bride 
That  way,  and  lay  both  houses  into  one. 


240  CLASSIC  LATIN  COURSE  IN  ENGLISH. 

Bring,  too,  the  mother,  and  whole  family, 

Over  to  us. 

JE.  I  will.    O  charming  father ! 

De.  (Aside)  Charming !  See  there !  he  calls  me  charming  now. 

— My  brother's  house  will  be  a  thoroughfare  ; 

Throng' d  with  whole  crowds  of  people ;   much  expense 

Will  follow ;  very  much ;  what's  that  to  me  ? 

I  am  called  charming,  and  get  into  favor. 

Ho !  order  Babylo  immediately 

To  pay  him  twenty  minae.    Prithee,  Syrus, 

Why  don't  you  execute  your  orders  ? 
Sy.  What? 

De.  Down  with  the  wall !    (Exit  Syrus) — You,  Geta,  go  and 
bring 

The  ladies  over. 
Ge.  Heaven  bless  you,  Demea, 

For  all  your  friendship  to  our  family  !    (Exit  Geta.) 
De.  They're  worthy  of  it.— What   say   you  to  this?     (to 

JEschinus.) 

JE.  I  think  it  admirable. 
De.  'Tis  much  better 

Than  for  a  poor  soul,  sick  and  lying-in, 

To  be  conducted  through  the  street. 
2E.  I  never 

Saw  anything  concerted  better,  sir. 
De.  'Tis  just  my  way. — But  here  comes  Micio. 

Perhaps  the  most  wonder-stricken  man  of  all,  was  Micio  hear- 
ing of  Demea's  extravagant  proposal  for  the  nuptials.  Micio  is 
destined,  however,  to  be  still  further  impressed  ;  for  Demea,  in 
the  overflow  of  his  vicarious  universal  benevolence,  is  even 
going  to  make  his  bachelor  brother  marry  the  mother  of  2Esch- 
inus's  bride.  The  following  scenes  show  this  matrimonial 
charity  successfully  enforced  upon  Micio's  consent  (the  lady  in 
the  case  not  being  consulted  at  ah1),  with  a  comic  profusion  of 
other  kindnesses  scattered  freely  about,  at  the  instance  of  the 
whimsically  altered  Demea  ;  wherewithal — the  audience,  be 
sure,  sympathetically  amused  and  delighted— the  comedy  ends  : 

Micio.  (At  entering)    My  brother  order  it,  d'ye  say?    Where  is 

he? 

— Was  this  your  order,  Demea  ? 

De.  'Twas  my  order ; 

And  by  this  means,  and  every  other  way, 


PLAUTUS  AND  TERENCE.  241 

I  would  unite,  serve,  cherish,  and  oblige, 

And  join  the  family  to  ours ! 
2E.  (To  Micio)  Pray  do,  sir. 

Mi.  I  don't  oppose  it. 
De.  Nay,  but  'tis  our  duty. 

First,  there 's  the  mother  of  the  bride — 
Mi.  What  then? 

De.  Worthy  and  modest. 
Mi.  So  they  say. 

De.  In  years. 

Mi.  True. 
De.  And  so  far  advanced  that  she  is  long 

Past  child-bearing,  a  poor  lone  woman  too, 

With  none  to  comfort  her. 

Mi.  What  means  all  this  ? 

De.  This  woman  'tis  your  place  to  marry,  brother ; 

And  yours  (to  ^Sschinus)  to  bring  him  to  't. 
Mi.  I  marry  her  ? 

De.  You. 
Mi.  I  ? 

De.  Yes,  you,  I  say. 

Mi.  Ridiculous ! 

De.  (To  JEschimis)  If  you're  a  man,  he'll  do 't. 
JE.  (To  Micio)  Dear  father! 

Mi.  How! 

Do  you  then  join  him,  fool  ? 
De.  Nay,  don't  deny. 

It  can't  be  otherwise. 

Mi.  You've  lost  your  senses ! 

JE.  Let  me  prevail  upon  you,  sir  ! 
Mi.  You're  mad. 

Away! 

De.  Oblige  your  son. 

Mi.  Have  you  your  wits? 

I  a  new-married  man  at  sixty- five ! 

And  marry  a  decrepid  poor  old  woman ! 

Is  that  what  you  advise  me  ? 
JE.  Do  it,  sir ! 

I've  promis'd  them. 
Mi.  You've  promised  them,  indeed  I 

Prithee,  boy,  promise  for  yourself. 
De.  Come,  come ! 

What  if  he  asked  still  more  of  you  ? 
Mi.  As  if 

This  was  not  even  the  utmost. 
De.  Nay,  comply ! 


242  CLASSIC  LATIN  COUKSE  IN  ENGLISH. 

JE.  Be  not  obdurate ! 

De.  Come,  come,  promise  him. 

Mi.  Won't  you  desist  ? 

^E.  No,  not  till  I  prevail. 

Mi.  This  is  mere  force. 

De.  Nay,  nay,  comply,  good  Micio ! 

Mi.  Though  this  appears  to  me  absurd,  wrong,  foolish, 
And  quite  repugnant  to  my  scheme  of  life, 
Yet,  if  you're  so  much  bent  on 't,  let  it  be ! 

JZ.  Obliging  father,  worthy  my  best  love ! 

De.  (Aside)   What  now?    This  answers  to  my  wish.    What 

more? 

Hegio  's  their  kinsman,  (to  Micio)  our  relation,  too, 
And  very  poor.    We  should  do  him  some  service. 

Mi.  Do  what? 

De.  There  is  a  little  piece  of  ground, 

Which  you  let  out  near  town.    Let's  give  it  him 
To  live  upon. 

3ft.  So  little,  do  you  call  it  ? 

De.  Well,  if  'tis  large,  let  's  give  it.    He  has  been 
Father  to  her ;  a  good  man ;  our  relation. 
It  will  be  given  worthily.    In  short, 
That  saying,  Micio,  I  now  make  my  own, 
Which  you  so  lately  and  so  wisely  quoted : 
"  It  is  the  common  failing  of  old  men, 
To  be  too  much  intent  on  worldly  matters :  " 
Let  us  wipe  off  that  stain.    The  saying  's  true, 
And  should  be  practiced. 

3ft.  Well,  well,  be  it  so, 

If  he  requires  it.    (Pointing  to  ^Zschinus.) 

JE.  I  beseech  it,  father. 

De.  Now  you're  indeed  my  brother,  soul  and  body. 

3ft.  I'm  glad  to  find  you  think  me  so. 

De.  (Aside)  I  foil  him 

At  his  own  weapons. 

SCENE  VI. 
(To  them  Syrus.) 
Syrus.  I  have  executed 

Your  orders,  Deinea. 
De.  A  good  fellow !— Truly, 

Syrus,  I  think,  should  be  made  free  to-day. 
3ft.  Made  free!    He ?— Wherefore ? 

De.  O,  for  many  reasons. 

Sy.  O  Demea,  you're  a  noble  gentleman, 


PLAUTUS  AND  TERENCE.  248 

I've  taken  care  of  both  your  sons  from  boys ; 

Taught  them,  instructed  them,  and  given  them 

The  wholesomest  advice  that  I  was  able. 
De.  The  thing 's  apparent:  and  these  offices : 

To  cater ; — bring  a  wench  in,  safe  and  snug ; — 

Or  in  midday  prepare  an  entertainment ; — 

All  these  are  talents  of  no  common  man. 
Sy.  O,  most  delightful  gentleman ! 
De.  Besides, 

He  has  been  instrumental,  too,  this  day, 

In  purchasing  the  music-girl.    He  manag'd 

The  whole  affair.    We  should  reward  him  for  it. 

It  will  encourage  others. — In  a  word, 

Your  .<Eschinus  would  have  it  so. 
Mi.  Do  you 

Desire  it  ? 

JE.  Yes,  sir. 

Mi.  Well,  if  you  desire  it — 

Come  hither,  Syrus ! — Be  thou  free ! 

(SYRUS  kneels :  MICIO  strikes  him,  being  the  ceremony  of  manu- 
mission, or  giving  a  slave  his  freedom.) 

Sy.  I  thank  you : 

Thanks  to  you  all ;  but  most  of  all,  to  Demea ! 
De.  I'm  glad  of  your  good  fortune. 
2E.  So  am  I. 

Sy.  I  do  believe  it ;  and  I  wish  this  joy 

Were  quite  complete,  and  I  might  see  my  wife, 

My  Phrygia,  too,  made  free,  as  well  as  I. 
De.  The  very  best  of  women ! 
Sy.  And  the  first 

That  suckled  my  young  master's  son,  your  grandson. 
De.  Indeed !  the  first  who  suckled  him  ! — Nay,  then, 

Beyond  all  doubt  she  should  be  free. 
Mi.  For  what? 

De.  For  that.    Nay,  take  the  sum,  whate'er  it  be, 

Of  me. 
Sy.  Now  all  the  powers  above  grant  all 

Your  wishes,  Demea. 
Mi.  You  have  thriv'd  to-day 

Most  rarely,  Syrus. 
De.  And  besides  this,  Micio, 

It  would  be  handsome  to  advance  him  something, 

To  try  his  fortune  with.    He'll  soon  return  it. 
Mi.  Not  that.  (Snapping  his  fingers.) 

^E.  He  's  honest. 


244  CLASSIC  LATIN  COURSE  IN   ENGLISH. 

Sy.  Faith,  I  will  return  it. 

Do  but  advance  it. 

M.  Do,  sir. 

Mi.  Well,  I'll  think  on  't. 

De.  (To  Syrus.)  I'll  see  that  he  shall  do  't. 

Sy.  Thou  best  of  men ! 

JE.  My  most  indulgent  father ! 

Mi.  What  means  this  ? 

Whence  comes  this  hasty  change  of  manners,  brother  ? 
Whence  flows  all  this  extravagance  ?  and  whence 
This  sudden  prodigality  ? 

De.  I'll  tell  you : 

To  show  you  that  the  reason  why  our  sons 
Think  you  so  pleasant  and  agreeable, 
Is  not  from  your  deserts,  or  truth,  or  justice, 
But  your  compliance,  bounty,  and  indulgence. 
— Now,  therefore,  if  I'm  odious  to  you,  son, 
Because  I'm  not  subservient  to  your  humor, 
In  all  things,  right  or  wrong :  away  with  care ! 
Spend,  squander,  and  do  what  you  will — but  if, 
In  those  affairs  where  youth  has  made  you  blind, 
Eager,  and  thoughtless,  you  will  suffer  me 
To  counsel  and  correct — and  in  due  season 
Indulge  you — I  am  at  your  service. 

&.  Father, 

In  all  things  we  submit  ourselves  to  you. 
What 's  fit  and  proper,  you  know  best. — But  what 
Shall  come  of  my  poor  brother ! 

De.  I  consent 

That  he  shall  have  her :  let  him  finish  there. 

^E7.  All  now  is  as  it  should  be.    (To  the  audience)    Clap  your 
hands. 

In  this  play  of  Terence's  a  considerable  advance  from  Plautus 
toward  the  modern  type  of  comedy  will  readily  be  found. 

The  glimpses  that,  through  Roman  adaptations,  we  catch  of 
the  New  Comedy  of  Athens,  make  us  feel  how  much  we  lost 
in  losing  the  originals.  As  it  is,  modern  comedy,  best,  no 
doubt,  in  the  French  language,  has  been  not  a  little  indebted 
to  inspiration  and  example  derived,  through  Plautus  and 
Terence,  from  Menander  and  his  peers.  Ancient  Greece 
reaches  long  hands  in  many  directions,  to  mold  for  us  the 
forms,  and  to  dictate  to  us  the  spirit,  of  our  literature  and  art. 


CHAPTEE  X. 

LUCRETIUS. 

AN  Epicurean,  but  an  Epicurean  very  different  in  motive 
and  in  tone  from  merry-making  Terence,  was  the  grave, 
earnest,  intent  poet  Lu-cre/tius.  Dramatist,  and  scarce  poet 
at  all,  though  he  wrote  in  verse,  was  Terence.  Philosopher 
principally  (or  expounder  of  philosophy),  but  true  poet,  too — 
incidentally  and  as  it  were  involuntarily — was  Lucretius. 
The  Lucretian  philosophy — science  call  it  rather,  or  attempted 
science — has  perished  utterly  ;  the  Lucretian  poetry  survives, 
to  perish  never.  Such  sport  are  we  mortals  of  a  power  not 
ourselves,  a  power  greater  than  we  !  What  Lucretius  mainly 
meant,  has  come  to  naught.  What  he  at  times  hardly  seems 
to  have  meant  at  all,  is  his  chief  title  to  living  human  praise. 
A  great  poet  he  was,  wrecked  in  seeking  to  be  a  great  ex- 
pounder of  philosophy — a  great  poet,  let  us  shortly  say,  who 
did  not  write  a  great  poem. 

Titus  Lucretius  Carus  was  a  contemporary  of  Caesar  and 
of  Cicero.  But,  except  this  bare  fact  of  date,  we  know  almost 
nothing  of  the  man.  He  scarcely  belonged  to  the  age  in 
which  he  lived.  His  sympathies  were  all  with  an  earlier 
time.  He  felt  the  existing  political  order  crumbling  about 
him ;  but,  though  of  knightly  blood,  he  took  no  part  in 
shaping  the  new  political  order  that  should  succeed.  Roman 
in  character,  he  seems  somehow  not  to  have  been  Roman  in 
aim  and  scheme  of  life.  He  made  philosophy — that  is,  sci- 
ence— his  chief  motive.  This  was  not  Roman.  The  Roman 
course  would  have  been  to  choose  politics  for  the  chief  thing, 

245 


246  CLASSIC  LATIN  COURSE  IN   ENGLISH. 

and  let  philosophy  take  its  chance  as  a  thing  incidental. 

But  nobody  can  separate  himself  completely  from  his  times. 
And  Lucretius,  though  insular,  was  yet  in  the  sea.  The  sea 
around  Lucretius  was  irreligion,  skepticism,  atheism.  Olym- 
pianism  was,  indeed,  still  a  ritual ;  but  it  was  no  longer  a 
creed.  The  prevailing  unbelief  involved  Lucretius.  Nay, 
unbelief  is  not  the  word  to  describe  the  state  of  this  man's 
mind.  He  was  not  an  unbeliever,  he  was  a  disbeliever.  He 
was  a  vehement  disbeliever.  What  in  others  was  an  apathy, 
in  him  was  a  passion.  He  disbelieved  in  the  gods  so  in- 
tensely, that  he  almost  rehabilitated  the  gods,  that  he  might 
hate  them  the  better. 

The  title  of  Lucretius's  poem  is  De  Berum  Natura,  Con- 
cerning the  Nature  of  Things,  The  scheme  of  the  poem  is 
as  large  as  the  vagueness  of  the  title  would  seem  to  imply. 
The  poet,  as  just  said,  attempts  nothing  less  than  to  explain 
the  universe.  His  motive  ostensibly  is  didactic,  not  poetic. 
He  will  establish  atheism  upon  an  impregnable  basis  of 
strict  science.  His  subject  is  not  for  the  sake  of  a  poem. 
His  poem  is  severely  for  the  sake  of  his  subject ;  as,  finally, 
his  subject  itself  is  for  the  sake  of  his  object. 

It  is  constantly  to  be  understood  that,  like  his  Roman 
literary  brethren  all,  Lucretius  was  a  copious  borrower  from 
the  Greek.  He  does  not  pretend  to  be  the  inventor  of  the 
cosmlcal  system  that  he  expounds.  He  derives  all  from  Epi- 
curus, and  he  attributes  all  to  Epicurus.  For  our  knowledge 
in  detail  of  what  Epicurus  taught,  we  are  largely  indebted 
to  Lucretius.  The  great  master's  own  works,  multifarious 
as  these  were,  have  nearly  all  perished. 

Lucretius  begins  his  poem  rather  curiously,  for  an  atheist. 
He  begins  it  with  an  ostensibly  dutiful  invocation  of  Venus. 
We  are,  of  course,  to  suppose  that  he  meant  his  Venus  to 
be  simply  a  poetical  personification  of  the  principle  of  fecun- 
dity and  grace.  This  invocation  is  one  of  the  most  celebrated 


LUCRETIUS.  247 

passages  in  Latin  poetry.  Mr.  Lowell  speaks,  strongly,  thus 
ofit : 

"The  invocation  of  Venus,  as  the  genetic  force  of  nature, 
by  Lucretius,  seems  to  me  the  one  sunburst  of  purely  poetic 
inspiration  which  the  Latin  language  can  show." 

So  famous  a  passage  must  be  shown  our  readers.  Here  it 
is,  first  in  the  consummately  fine  prose  version  of  Mr.  Munro, 
acknowledged  the  best  English  translator  of  Lucretius  : 

Mother  of  the  Aeneadae,  darling  of  men  and  gods,  increase- 
giving  Venus,  who  beneath  the  gliding  signs  of  heaven  fillest 
with  thy  presence  the  ship-carrying  sea,  the  corn-bearing  lands, 
since  through  thee  every  kind  of  living  things  is  conceived, 
rises  up  and  beholds  the  light  of  the  sun.  Before  thee,  goddess, 
flee  the  winds,  the  clouds  of  heaven,  before  thee  and  thy  advent ; 
for  thee  earth  manifold  in  works  puts  forth  sweet-smelling  flowers ; 
for  thee  the  levels  of  the  sea  do  laugh  and  heaven  propitiated  shines 
with  outspread  light.  For  soon  as  the  vernal  aspect  of  day  is  dis- 
closed, and  the  birth-favoring  breeze  of  favonius  unbarred  is  blow- 
ing fresh,  first  the  fowls  of  the  air,  o  lady,  show  signs  of  thee 
and  thy  entering  in,  throughly  smitten  in  heart  by  thy  power. 
Next  the  wild  herds  bound  over  the  glad  pastures  and  swim 
the  rapid  rivers :  in  such  wise  each  made  prisoner  by  thy  charm 
follows  thee  with  desire,  whither  thou  goest  to  lead  it  on.  Yes 
throughout  seas  and  mountains  and  sweeping  rivers  and  leafy 
homes  of  birds  and  grassy  plains,  striking  fond  love  into  the 
breasts  of  all  thou  constrainest  them  each  after  its  kind  to  continue 
their  races  with  desire.  Since  thou  then  art  sole  mistress  of  the 
nature  of  things,  and  without  thee  nothing  rises  up  into  the  divine 
borders  of  light,  nothing  grows  to  be  glad  or  lovely,  I  would  have 
thee  for  a  helpmate  in  writing  the  verses  which  I  essay  to  pen 
on  the  nature  of  things  for  our  own  son  of  the  Memmii,  whom 
thou,  goddess,  hast  willed  to  have  no  peer,  rich  as  he  ever  is  in 
every  grace.  Wherefore  all  the  more,  o  lady,  lend  my  lays  an 
everliving  charm.  Cause  meanwhile  the  savage  works  of  war  to 
be  lulled  to  rest  throughout  all  seas  and  lands ;  for  thou  alone  canst 
bless  mankind  with  calm  peace,  seeing  that  Mavors  lord  of  battle 
controls  the  savage  works  of  war,  Mavors  who  often  flings  himself 
into  thy  lap  quite  vanquished  by  the  never-healing  wound  of 
love.  .  .  .  While,  then,  lady,  he  is  reposing  .  .  .  shed  thy- 
self about  him  and  above,  and  pour  from  thy  lips  sweet  discourse, 
asking,  glorious  dame,  gentle  peace  for  the  Romans.  For  neither 
can  we  in  our  country's  day  of  trouble  with  untroubled  mind 


248  CLASSIC  LATIN  COURSE  IN  ENGLISH. 

think  only  of  our  work,  nor  can  the  illustrious  offset  of  Memmius 
in  times  like  these  be  wanting  to  the  general  weal. 

In  printing  the  preceding  extract,  we  have  followed  exactly 
the  somewhat  peculiar  typography  adopted  by  Mr.  Munro  for 
his  translation  of  Lucretius. 

The  rest  of  our  citations  we  shall  take  where  we  can  from 
Mr.  W.  H.  Mallock's  metrical  rendering. 

The  following  is  the  fashion  in  which  Lucretius  at  the  same 
time  acknowledges  his  discipleship  to  Epicurus,  and  vents  his 
hatred  of  religion,  as  religion  was  understood  by  the  Romans : 

When  human  life,  a  shame  to  human  eyes, 

Lay  sprawling  in  the  mire  in  foul  estate, 
A  cowering  thing  without  the  strength  to  rise, 

Held  down  by  fell  religion's  heavy  weight- 
Religion  scowling  downward  from  the  skies, 

With  hideous  head,  and  vigilant  eyes  of  hate — 
First  did  a  man  of  Greece  presume  to  raise 
His  brows,  and  give  the  monster  gaze  for  gaze. 

Him  not  the  tales  of  all  the  gods  in  heaven, 
Nor  the  heaven's  lightnings,  nor  the  menacing  roar 

Of  thunder  daunted.    He  was  only  driven, 
By  these  vain  vauntings,  to  desire  the  more 

To  burst  through  Nature's  gates,  and  rive  the  unriven 
Bars.    And  he  gained  the  day  ;  and,  conqueror, 

His  spirit  broke  beyond  our  world,  and  past 

Its  flaming  walls,  and  fathomed  all  the  vast. 

And  back  returning,  crowned  with  victory,  he 
Divulged  of  things  the  hidden  mysteries, 

Laying  quite  bare  what  can  and  cannot  be, 
How  to  each  force  is  set  strong  boundaries, 

How  no  power  raves  unchained,  and  nought  is  free. 
So  the  times  change ;  and  now  religion  lies 

Trampled  by  us ;  and  unto  us  'tis  given 

Fearless  with  level  gaze  to  scan  the  heaven. 

Lucretius  lays  it  down  as  his  great  first  principle,  that 
"no  obiect  is  ever  divinely  produced  out  of  nothing."  This 
might  seem  only  to  mean  that  there  must  have  been  matter, 
prior  to  any  creative  act  of  a  divine  being.  But  Lucretius 


LUCRETIUS.  .  249 

means  more  than  that.  For  he  speaks  presently  of  being  able 
also  to  show  "the  manner  in  which  all  things  are  done 
without  the  hand  of  the  gods."  "The  hand  of  the  gods" 
being  thus  out  of  the  question,  the  universe,  since  it  now 
exists,  must  always  have  existed.  Always,  but  not  always  in 
its  present  state.  There  was  a  first  state  different  from,  the 
present.  That  first  state  consisted  of  particles,  particles 
moving,  particles  moving  in  a  vacuum.  Such  was  the  uni- 
verse in  the  beginning.  Imagine  a  universal  snow-storm. 
The  spectacle  of  those  falling  flakes  of  snow  will  very  well 
represent  the  spectacle  of  the  universe  in  its  Lucretian  pri- 
mordial condition.  How  the  infinitesimal  ultimate  atoms, 
supposed  by  Lucretius,  came  first  to  exist,  he  does  not  ex- 
plain ;  as  no  more  does  he  explain  how  those  atoms  came  to 
be  in  motion.  That  such,  however,  was  the  primal  state 
of  things,  he  is  quite  sure.  And  he  makes  nothing  of  telling 
how,  from  the  chaos  of  atoms  moving  in  void,  the  present 
cosmos  sprang  into  being.  It  is  simply  on  this  wise :  One 
moving  atom  had  some  slight,  very  slight,  deflection — whence 
received,  does  not  appear — from  its  straight  course,  and  so,  im- 
pinging on  a  fellow  atom,  adhered  thereto — why  adhered,  is 
left  unsaid — or  else,  bounding  off  repelled,  attached  itself  to  its 
neighbor  on  the  other  side.  Thus  at  length  by  chance  the 
infinite  multitude  of  individual  atoms  arranged  themselves 
into  the  existing  order  of  the  universe.  "A  fortuitous  con- 
course of  atoms,"  and  no  god,  did  the  whole  business  for 
Lucretius  then  ;  as  the  great  principle  of  "  evolution,"  and  no 
God,  does  the  whole  business  now — for  some.  And  of  these 
two  attempts  to  solve  the  problem  of  the  universe,  one  perhaps 
is  as  truly  philosophical  as  the  other. 

That  characteristically  Roman  sentiment,  desire  of  deathless 
literary  fame,  is  acknowledged  by  Lucretius,  in  the  following 
strain  of  genuine,  nay,  of  exquisite,  poetry.  The  poet  has  been 
avowing  his  sense  of  the  difficulty  of  his  subject ;  "yet,  "he  says  : 


250  CLASSIC  LATIN  COURSE  IN  ENGLISH. 

Yet  my  heart,  smarting  with  desire  for  praise, 

Me  urges  on  to  sing  of  themes  like  these, 
And  that  great  longing  to  pour  forth  my  lays 

Constrains  me,  and  the  loved  Pierides, 
Whose  pathless  mountain-haunts  I  now  explore, 
And  glades  where  no  man's  foot  has  fallen  before. 

Ah  sweet,  ah  sweet,  to  approach  the  untainted  springs, 
And  quaff  the  virgin  waters  cool  and  clear, 

And  cull  the  flowers  that  have  been  unknown  things 
To  all  men  heretofore !  and  yet  more  dear 

When  mine  shall  be  the  adventurous  hand  that  brings 
A  crown  for  mine  own  brows,  from  places  where 

The  Muse  has  deigned  to  grant  a  crown  for  none, 

Save  for  my  favored  brows,  and  mine  alone. 

Such  a  passage  as  that,  presenting  the  writer  in  the  char- 
acter of  conscious  and  confessed  poetical  aspirant — "  garland 
and  singing  robes  about  him" — almost  makes  one  give  up 
holding  that  Lucretius  was  in  aim  and  ambition  pre- 
eminently philosopher.  That  passage  at  least  reads  quite 
like  the  authentic  outburst  of  a  distinctively  and  predomi- 
nantly poetic  aspiration  pent  up  in  the  breast  of  the  man. 

Toward  the  end  of  book  first,  Lucretius  reaches,  in  a  kind 
of  resumption  of  his  argument,  the  following  statement  of  his 
theory  of  atoms  and  void  : 

For  blindly,  blindly,  and  without  design, 
Did  these  first  atoms  their  first  meetings  try ; 

No  ordering  thought  was  there,  no  will  divine 
To  guide  them ;  but  through  infinite  time  gone  by 

Tossed  and  tormented  they  essayed  to  join, 
And  clashed  through  the  void  space  tempestuously, 

Until  at  last  that  certain  whirl  began, 

Which  slowly  formed  the  earth  and  heaven  and  man. 

The  second  book  opens  with  a  celebrated  passage  : 

'Tis  sweet  when  tempests  roar  upon  the  sea 
To  watch  from  land  another's  deep  distress 

Amongst  the  waves — his  toil  and  misery : 
Not  that  his  sorrow  makes  our  happiness, 

But  that  some  sweetness  there  must  ever  be 
Watching  what  sorrows  we  do  not  possess : 


LUCRETIUS.  251 

So,  too,  'tis  sweet  to  safely  view  from  far 
Gleam  o'er  the  plains  the  savage  ways  of  war. 

But  sweeter  far  to  look  with  purged  eyes 
Down  from  the  battlements  and  topmost  towers 

Of  learning,  those  high  bastions  of  the  wise, 
And  far  below  us  see  this  world  of  ours, 

The  vain  crowds  wandering  blindly,  led  by  lies, 
Spending  in  pride  and  wrangling  all  their  powers. 

So  far  below— the  pigmy  toil  and  strife, 

The  pain  and  piteous  rivalries  of  life. 

O  peoples  miserable !    O  fools  and  blind ! 

What  night  you  cast  o'er  all  the  days  of  man  ! 
And  in  that  night  before  you  and  behind 

What  perils  prowl !    But  you  nor  will  nor  can 
See  that  the  treasure  of  a  tranquil  mind 

Is  all  that  Nature  pleads  for,  for  this  span, 
So  that  between  our  birth  and  grave  we  gain 
Some  quiet  pleasures,  and  a  pause  from  pain. 

In  the  following  stanza,  removed  from  those  just  quoted  by 
only  a  short  interval,  a  genuine  feeling  for  the  beauty  of 
nature  will  be  recognized,  feeling  such  as  was  not  common 
in  the  literary  world  before  Lucretius — in  fact,  a  modern- 
seeming  sentiment,  a  quality  almost  Wordsworthian  : 

The  grass  is  ours,  and  sweeter  sounds  than  these, 
As  down  we  couch  us  by  the  babbling  spring, 

And  overhead  we  hear  the  branching  trees 
That  shade  us,  whisper ;  and  for  food  we  bring 

Only  the  country's  simple  luxuries. 
Ah,  sweet  is  this,  and  sweetest  in  the  spring, 

When  the  sun  goes  through  all  the  balmy  hours, 

And  all  the  green  earth's  lap  is  filled  with  flowers! 

The  love  of  nature  thus  exemplified  from  Lucretius  may  be 
said  to  constitute  in  him  almost  a  characteristic  trait.  Virgil 
might  conceivably  have  written  his  descriptions  from  pictures 
of  what  he  describes.  Lucretius  could  not  have  written  his 
descriptions  otherwise  than  directly  from  nature  herself.  Not 
sentiment,  however,  and  not  fancy,  not  indeed  poetry  in  any 
form,  but  scientific  discussions  and  explanations  compose  the 
main  tissue  of  Lucretius's  work. 


252  CLASSIC  LATIN  COURSE  IN  ENGLISH. 

Our  poet-philosopher  applies  his  atomic  theory  to  explain 
the  origin  and  reason  of  different  tastes  to  the  palate.  The 
different  tastes  are  due  to  the  different  shapes  of  the  atoms 
of  which  the  sapid  substances  consist.  Lucretius  (according 
to  Mr.  Munro)  : 

The  liquids  honey  and  milk  excite  a  pleasant  sensation  of  tongue 
when  held  in  the  mouth ;  but,  on  the  other  hand,  the  nauseous  na- 
ture of  wormwood  and  of  harsh  centaury  writhes  the  mouth  with 
a  noisome  flavor ;  so  that  you  may  easily  see  that  the  things  which 
are  able  to  affect  the  senses  pleasantly,  consist  of  smooth  and  round 
elements ;  while  all  those,  on  the  other  hand,  which  are  found  to  be 
bitter  and  harsh,  are  held  in  connexion  by  particles  that  are  more 
hooked  and  for  this  reason  are  wont  to  tear  open  passages  into  our 
senses,  and  in  entering  in  to  break  through  the  body. 

Lucretius  blithely  undertakes  to  tell  a  great  secret  of  the 
universe.  "  Let  us  now  sing,"  he  says — we  make  a  long  skip 
forward  to  the  fifth  book,  to  find  this  extract — "  Let  us  now 
sing  what  causes  the  motions  of  the  stars :" 

In  the  first  place,  if  the  great  sphere  of  heaven  revolves,  we  must 
say  that  an  air  presses  on  the  pole  at  each  end  and  confines  it 
on  the  outside  and  closes  it  in  at  both  ends ;  and  then  that  a  third 
air  streams  above  and  moves  in  the  same  direction  in  which  roll  on 
as  they  shine  the  stars  of  the  eternal  world ;  or  else  that  this  third 
air  streams  below  in  order  to  carry  up  the  sphere  in  the  contrary 
direction ;  just  as  we  see  rivers  turn  wheels  and  water-scoops.  It 
is  likewise  quite  possible  too  that  all  the  heaven  remains  at  rest, 
while  at  the  same  time  the  glittering  signs  are  carried  on  ;  either 
because  rapid  heats  of  ether  are  shut  in  and  whirl  round  while 
seeking  a  way  out  and  roll  their  fires  in  all  directions  through 
heaven's  vast  quarters;  or  else  an  air  streaming  from  some  part 
from  another  source  outside  drives  and  whirls  the  fires ;  or  else 
they  may  glide  on  of  themselves  going  whithersoever  the  food 
of  each  calls  and  invites  them,  feeding  their  flamy  bodies  every- 
where throughout  heaven.  For  which  of  these  causes  is  in  opera- 
tion in  this  world,  it  is  not  easy  to  affirm  for  certain  ;  but  what  can 
be  and  is  done  throughout  the  universe  in  various  worlds  formed 
on  various  plans,  this  I  teach,  and  I  go  on  to  set  forth  several  < 
causes  which  may  exist  throughout  the  universe  for  tho  motions  of 
stars ;  one  of  which  however  must  in  this  world  also  be  the  cause 
that  imparts  lively  motion  to  the  signs  ;  but  to  dictate  which  of  them 
it  is,  is  by  no  means  the  duty  of  the  man  who  advances  step  by  step. 


LUCRETIUS.  253 

Memmius,  that  friend  of  the  poet  to  whom  the  poem  is 
inscribed  and  addressed,  must  have  felt  embarrassingly  free 
to  choose,  among  so  many  proffered  alternatives  of  explana- 
tion— all  about  equally  good.  If  he  was  of  a  poetical  turn,  as 
there  is  grave  reason  to  fear  he  was  not,  he  probably  pre- 
ferred— we  do,  we  confess — among  the  various  conjectures 
proposed  by  Lucretius,  the  pleasing  bucolic  view  of  the  case, 
the  idea,  namely,  that  the  stars  are  at  large  in  a  kind  of 
celestial  pasture,  that  they  "glide  on  of  themselves,  going 
whithersoever  the  food  of  each  calls  and  invites  them, 
feeding  their  flamy  bodies  everywhere  throughout  heaven." 

The  intrepid  poet  does  not  shrink  from  attacking,  in  the 
sixth  book,  the  problem  of  thunder  and  lightning.  He  pro- 
ceeds on  an  easier  plan  than  that  adopted  so  long  after  by 
Franklin.  Instead  of  going  out  in  a  thunder-storm,  to  try, 
as  Franklin  did,  a  dangerous  experiment  with  the  clouds, 
Lucretius  retires  into  the  safe  recesses  of  his  own  mind  and 
evolves  his  explanation  on  a  priori  principles.  If  the  facts  of 
nature  chanced  not  to  correspond  with  the  theory,  why,  so 
much  the  worse  for  the  facts.  In  the  case,  however,  of  Lu- 
cretius, the  poet's  eye,  in  a  fine  frenzy  rolling,  must  have  seen 
things  in  the  sky  that  perhaps  escaped  the  ken  of  the  more 
practical  American  philosopher.  Otherwise,  how  could  the 
poet  have  described,  with  such  power  as  is  displayed  in  the 
passage  we  are  about  to  quote?  (It  is  uniformly  the  incom- 
parable prose  translation  of  Munro,  whenever  the  form  is 
prose  in  which  we  present  Lucretius.)  One  imagines  Mem- 
mius "burning  with  high  hope"  of  true  enlightenment  at 
last,  as  he  reads  the  fair  and  fine  promise  of  explanation,  and 
no  mistake  this  time,  with  which  his  poet-friend  committed 
himself  in  the  prefatory  words  now  following  : 

And  now  in  what  way  these  [thunderbolts]  are  begotten  and  are 
formed  with  a  force  so  resistless  as  to  be  able  with  their  stroke 
to  burst  asunder  towers,  throw  down  houses,  wrench  away  beams 


254  CLASSIC  LATIN  COURSE  IN  ENGLISH. 

and  rafters,  and  cast  down  and  burn  up  the  monuments  of  men,  to 
strike  men  dead,  prostrate  cattle  far  and  near,  by  what  force 
they  can  do  all  this  and  the  like,  I  will  make  clear  and  will 
not  longer  detain  you  with  mere  professions. 

Thunderbolts  we  must  suppose  to  be  begotten  out  of  dense  clouds 
piled  up  high ;  for  they  are  never  sent  forth  at  all  when  the  sky 
is  clear  or  when  the  clouds  are  of  a  slight  density.  .  .  . 

I  have  shown  above  [in  a  passage  not  here  reproduced]  that 
hollow  clouds  have  very  many  seeds  of  heat,  and  they  must  also 
take  many  in  from  the  sun's  rays  and  their  heat.  On  this  account 
when  the  same  wind  which  happens  to  collect  them  into  any 
one  place,  has  forced  out  many  seeds  of  heat  and  has  mixed  itself 
up  with  that  fire,  then  the  eddy  of  wind  forces  a  way  in  and  whirls 
about  in  the  straitened  room  and  points  the  thunderbolt  in  the 
fiery  furnaces  within ;  for  it  is  kindled  in  two  ways  at  once ;  it 
is  heated  by  its  own  velocity  and  from  the  contact  of  fire.  After 
that,  when  the  force  of  the  wind  has  been  thoroughly  heated  and  the 
impetuous  power  of  the  fire  has  entered  in,  then  the  thunderbolt 
fully  forged,  as  it  were,  suddenly  rends  the  cloud,  and  their  heat 
put  in  motion  is  carried  on  traversing  all  places  with  flashing 
lights.  Close  upon  it  follows  so  heavy  a  clap  that  it  seems  to  crush 
down  from  above  the  quarters  of  heaven  which  have  all  at  once 
sprung  asunder.  Then  a  trembling  violently  seizes  the  earth  and 
rumblings  run  through  high  heaven ;  for  the  whole  body  of  the 
storm  then  without  exception  quakes  with  the  shock  and  loud  roar- 
ings are  aroused.  After  this  shock  follows  so  heavy  and  copious  a 
rain  that  the  whole  ether  seems  to  be  turning  into  rain  and  then  to 
be  tumbling  down  and  returning  to  a  deluge ;  so  great  a  flood  of  it 
is  discharged  by  the  bursting  of  the  cloud  and  the  storm  of  wind, 
when  the  sound  flies  forth  from  the  burning  stroke.  At  times  too 
the  force  of  the  wind  aroused  from  without  falls  on  a  cloud  hot 
with  a  fully  forged  thunderbolt ;  and  when  it  has  burst  it,  forth- 
with there  falls  down  yon  fiery  eddying  whirl  which  in  our  native 
speech  we  call  a  thunderbolt.  .  .  . 

The  velocity  of  thunderbolts  is  great  and  their  stroke  powerful, 
and  they  run  through  their  course  with  a  rapid  descent,  because 
their  force  when  aroused  first  in  all  cases  collects  itself  in  the  clouds 
and  gathers  itself  up  for  a  great  effort  at  starting ;  then  when  the 
cloud  is  no  longer  able  to  hold  the  increased  moving  power,  their 
force  is  pressed  out  and  therefore  flies  with  a  marvellous  moving 
power,  like  to  that  with  which  missiles  are  carried  when  discharged 
from  powerful  engines.  Then  too  the  thunderbolt  consists  of  small 
and  smooth  elements,  and  such  a  nature  it  is  not  easy  for  anything 
to  withstand ;  for  it  flies  between  and  passes  in  through  the  porous 
passages ;  therefore  it  is  not  checked  and  delayed  by  many  col- 


LUCRETIUS.  255 

lisions,  and  for  this  reason  it  glides  and  flies  on  with  a  swift 
moving  power.    .    .    . 

It  passes  too  through  things  without  injuring  them,  and  leaves 
many  things  quite  whole  after  it  has  gone  through,  because  the 
clear  bright  fire  flies  through  by  the  pores.  And  it  breaks  to  pieces 
many  things,  when  the  first  bodies  of  the  thunderbolt  have  fallen 
exactly  on  the  first  bodies  of  these  things,  at  the  points  where  they 
are  intertwined  and  held  together.  Again  it  easily  melts  brass  and 
fuses  gold  in  an  instant,  because  its  force  is  formed  of  bodies 
minutely  small  and  of  smooth  elements,  which  easily  make  their 
way  in  and  when  they  are  in,  in  a  moment  break  up  all  the 
knots  and  untie  the  bonds  of  union. 

Lucretius  certainly  had  a  genius  for  description  more  mag- 
nificent than  Virgil  could  boast — more  magnificent,  perhaps, 
than  any  other  ancient  poet  whatever.  It  must,  we  think,  be 
evident  to  every  reader,  that  the  poet  tends  often  to  get  the 
better  of  the  philosopher,  with  Lucretius.  The  complacency, 
however,  with  which  Lucretius  regarded  his  treatment  of  the 
present  matter  considered  as  pure  science,  is  unmistakable  : 

This  is  the  way  to  see  into  the  true  nature  of  the  thunderbolt  and 
to  understand  by  what  force  it  produces  each  effect. 

Through  a  page  or  so  following,  Lucretius  laughs  merci- 
lessly at  the  idea  of  Jupiter's  being  launcher  of  thunderbolts — 
Jupiter,  and  his  fellow-Olympians.  "Why  aim  they  at  soli- 
tary places,"  he  asks,  "and  spend  their  labor  in  vain  ?  Or  are 
they  then  practicing  their  arms  and  strengthening  their 
sinews?"  It  reads  not  unlike  Elijah  chaffing  the  prophets 
of  Baal.  We  wish  we  had  room  to  give  here  the  raking 
and  riddling  fire  of  sarcastic  interrogation  with  which,  at 
his  leisure,  Lucretius  pursues  and  persecutes  his  afflicted 
theme.  He  triumphs  and  glories  in  jubilant  atheism — more 
exactly,  in  rioting  anti-Olympianism.  It  is  to  "the  gods," 
rather  than  to  God,  that  Lucretius  opposes  himself  so  fiercely. 

Atheist  though  he  was,  the  gods  whom  he  denied  were 
the  gods  of  Olympus.  He  hated  religion  ;  but  the  religion 
that  he  hated  was  the  hateful  religion  of  Greece  and  of  Rome. 


256  CLASSIC  LATIN  COURSE  IN  ENGLISH. 

Who  can  say  how  Lucretius  might  have  borne  himself  toward 
the  unknown  God,  had  there,  in  his  time,  been  the  apostle 
Paul  to  declare  to  him  that  God ;  how  Lucretius  might 
have  borne  himself  toward  Christianity,  could  he  have  met, 
in  Christianity,  a  system  of  doctrine  not  less  intensely, — and 
so  much  more  effectively  ! — hostile  to  Olympianism  than 
was  the  Lueretian  philosophy  itself? 

It  is  needless  to  say  that  Lucretius  was  a  thorough-paced 
materialist.  Death  with  him  ended  all.  Powerful,  and 
drearily  powerful,  not  untouched  with  pathos,  is  the  strain 
in  which  he  announces  and  reasons  this  dreadful  creed — as 
will  amply  show  the  following  stanzas  of  translation  by 
Mr.  Mallock : 

Death  is  for  us  then  but  a  noise  and  name, 
Since  the  mind  dies,  and  hurts  us  not  a  jot ; 

And  as  in  bygone  times  when  Carthage  came 
To  battle,  we  and  ours  were  troubled  not, 

Nor  heeded  though  the  whole  earth's  shuddering  frame 
Reeled  with  the  stamp  of  armies,  and  the  lot 

Of  things  was  doubtful,  to  which  lords  should  fall 

The  land  and  seas  and  all  the  rule  of  all ; 

So,  too,  when  we  and  ours  shall  be  no  more, 
And  there  has  come  the  eternal  separation 

Of  flesh  and  spirit,  which,  conjoined  before, 
Made  us  ourselves,  there  will  be  no  sensation  ; 

We  should  not  hear  were  all  the  world  at  war ; 
Nor  shall  we,  in  its  last  dilapidation, 

When  the  heavens  fall,  and  earth's  foundations  flee : 

We  shall  nor  feel,  nor  hear,  nor  know,  nor  see. 

That  indestructible  instinct  in  man,  by  virtue  of  which  he 
divinely  "doubts  against  the  sense,"  and,  in  spite  of  appear- 
ance, still  dreams  of  "  soul  surviving  breath,"  Lucretius 
recognizes,  and  deals  with,  as  follows : 

Perplexed  he  argues,  from  the  fallacy 

Of  that  surviving  self  not  wholly  freed. 
Hence  he  bewails  his  bitter  doom— to  die ; 

Nor  does  he  see  that  when  he  dies  indeed, 
No  second  he  will  still  remain  to  cry, 


LUCRETIUS.  257 

Watching  its  own  cold  body  burn  or  bleed. 
O  fool !  to  fear  the  wild-beast's  ravening  claw, 
Or  that  torn  burial  of  its  mouth  and  maw. 

For  lo !  if  this  be  fearful,  let  me  learn 
Is  it  more  fearful  than  if  friends  should  place 

Thy  decent  limbs  upon  the  pyre  and  burn 
Sweet  frankincense  ?  or  smother  up  thy  face 

With  honey  in  the  balm-containing  urn  ? 
Or  if  you  merely  lay  beneath  the  rays 

Of  heaven  on  some  cold  rock  ?  or  damp  and  cold 

If  on  thine  eyelids  lay  a  load  of  mold  ? 

'  Thou  not  again  shalt  see  thy  dear  home's  door, 
Nor  thy  dear  wife  and  children  come  to  throw 

Their  arms  round  thee,  and  ask  for  kisses  more, 
And  through  thy  heart  make  quiet  comfort  go : 

Out  of  thy  hands  hath  slipped  the  precious  store 
Thou  hoardedst  for  thine  own,'  men  say,  '  and  lo, 

All  thou  desired  is  gone ! '  but  never  say, 

'  All  the  desire  as  well  hath  passed  away.' 

Ah,  could  they  only  see  this,  and  could  borrow 
True  words,  to  tell  what  things  in  death  abide  thee ! 

'  Thou  shalt  lie  soothed  in  sleep  that  knows  no  morrow, 
Nor  ever  cark  nor  care  again  betide  thee : 

Friend,  thou  wilt  say  thy  long  good-bye  to  sorrow, 
And  ours  will  be  the  pangs,  who  weep  beside  thee, 

And  watch  thy  dear  familiar  body  burn, 

And  leave  us  but  the  ashes  and  the  urn.' 

With  emphasis,  in  dismissing  the  subject  of  this  chapter,  we 
call  attention  to  the  remarkable  poem,  entitled  "  Lucretius," 
of  Tennyson.  For  the  full  understanding  of  that  poem, 
one  needs  to  remember  the  tradition  transmitted  by  St. 
Jerome,  the  Latin  Christian  father  (the  sole  tradition  extant 
concerning  Lucretius's  end),  to  the  effect  that  his  wife,  jealous 
of  him,  for  whatever  reason — perhaps  only  because  he  made 
himself  too  much  the  bridegroom  of  his  vocation  as  philos- 
opher and  poet — resorted  to  a  professor  of  magic  arts  and 
procured  a  potion  supposed  of  power  to  win  for  herself  her 
husband's  love.  This  love-philter,  administered  without  the 
poet's  knowledge,  worked  a  madness  in  his  brain,  under 


258  CLASSIC  LATIN  COURSE  IN  ENGLISH. 

the  influence  of  which,  in  the  prime  of  manhood,  at  forty- 
seven  years  of  age,  he  committed  suicide. 

Lucretius  and  Tennyson  seem  almost  to  be  brethren  in 
genius  and  temperament.  Tennyson  is  perhaps  the  one 
English  mind  of  our  day  who  could,  by  exchange  of  time  and 
place,  conceivably  have  mingled  poetry  and  philosophy,  in 
a  production  like  the  De  Berum  Natura  of  Lucretius. 


CHAPTEE  XL 

HORACE. 

HORACE  is  not  one  of  the  great  poets  of  the  world.  But 
he  is,  emphatically,  one  of  the  best  known.  He  does  not 
overawe  us  with  a  vastness  in  his  genius.  But  he  satisfies  us 
with  far-sought  perfection  in  his  workmanship.  If  Homer, 
if  Virgil,  if  Dante,  if  Milton,  are  each  like  a  great  statue,  like 
a  Phidian  Jove — Horace  is  like  an  exquisite  cameo,  delighting 
us,  not  with  mass,  but  with  fineness,  not  with  majesty,  but 
with  grace.  His  lines  are  not  large,  but  they  are  clean  and 
clear.  You  may  use  the  microscope  and  discover  no  flaw. 
One  must  not  look  for  the  great  thought  that  "strikes  along 
the  brain  and  flushes  all  the  cheek."  To  this  height  Horace 
does  not  aspire.  One  must  not  even  look  for  plenitude  and 
variety  of  wisdom.  Horace  is  wise,  but  he  is  narrowly,  he  is, 
as  it  were,  penuriously,  wise.  He  is  worldly-wise.  His  re- 
flections cling  faithfully  to  the  ground.  Occasionally  there  is 
a  bold  stretch  of  wing,  and  a  rising  as  if  to  try  the  eagle's 
flight.  But  the  poet  soon  recollects  himself,  and  descends, 
with  conscious  grace  of  self-control,  to  the  safe  lower  level  that 
he  loves. 

Horace's  odes  are,  many  of  them,  perhaps  the  most  of  them, 
occasional  poems.  Few  escape  the  quality  that  thus  naturally 
belongs  to  them  as  being  done  to  order.  They  are  works  of 
labor,  quite  as  much  as  works  of  love.  But  then  Horace's 
genius  was  so  well  trained,  so  obedient  to  its  owner's  will,  that 
there  is  no  revolt  at  task-work  apparent.  Deliberateness  al- 

259 


260  CLASSIC  LATIN  COURSE  IN  ENGLISH. 

most  becomes  spontaneousness.  The  artist's  delight  in  ex- 
ecution almost  becomes  equivalent  to  the  poet's  delight  in  con- 
ception. Art,  in  short,  is  nature,  with  Horace. 

It  follows  from  this  character  in  Horace,  that  he  suffers 
more  than  most  other  poets  from  translation.  There  is  not, 
and  there  cannot  be,  any  adequate  transcript,  in  another  lan- 
guage, of  his  verse.  Thought,  image,  you  can  translate,  but 
you  cannot  translate  form.  And  form  is  more,  than  is  any 
thing  besides  form,  in  Horace's  odes.  There  is  considerable 
monotony  of  topic  and  sentiment.  And  the  sentiments  that 
keep  recurring  are  not  very  numerous,  not  very  profound,  not 
very  novel.  They  are  in  truth  the  obvious,  the  commonplace 
itself,  of  pagan  life.  '  Life  is  short,  is  uncertain.  Death  ends 
all.  It  is  not  best  to  fret.  Take  things  as  they  come.  Be 
contented.  Moderation  is  wisdom.  Keep  the  golden  mean. 
Wealth  will  not  make  you  happy.'  These  ideas  revolve  con- 
stantly into  view,  as  you  read  the  odes  of  Horace.  But  you 
do  not  see  them  in  this  bareness  and  baldness.  As  in  a 
kaleidoscope,  they  undergo  various  permutation  of  arrange- 
ment and  they  take  on  beauty,  when  Horace  sings  them  for 
you  in  his  verse.  This  magician  in  metre  could  go  on  repeat- 
ing himself  forever,  and  the  repetition  should  never  weary 
you.  You  would  scarcely  think  of  its  being  repetition — this 
continuous  flow  from  form  to  form  of  the  same  ideas,  in  the 
shaken  kaleidoscope  of  Horace's  verse. 

The  experience  we  describe  belongs,  however,  exclusively  to 
the  man  reading  the  original  Latin  itself.  No  art  of  transla- 
tion can  make  an  equivalent  experience  possible  to  the  reader 
of  Horace  in  English.  The  Latin  scholar  finds  .the  very 
aspect  of  the  Horatian  verse  a  refection  to  the  eye.  It  is  like 
looking  at  the  fine  lines  of  a  perfect  medallion,  or  a  gem  ex- 
quisitely engraved.  Not  in  the  whole  round  of  ancient  classic 
literature  have  we  encountered  any  author  from  whom  a 
greater  proportion  of  his  individual  quality  is  lost,  than  is  lost 


HORACE.  261 

from  Horace,  in  an  English  translation.  A  discouraging 
statement,  do  you  say  ?  Perhaps,  say  we  in  reply  ;  but  one 
obtains  a  truer  impression  of  Horace  by  knowing  this,  to 
begin  with,  about  him,  than  would  be  possible  with  any  illu- 
sion in  the  mind  of  the  contrary.  "What  we  have  said  applies, 
however,  to  the  properly  lyrical  productions  of  Horace.  His 
satires  and  his  epistles  are  capable  of  being  translated  with  less 
loss. 

Horace  is  chiefly  his  own  biographer.  We  know  little,  and 
there  is  little  that  we  need  to  know,  of  his  life,  beyond  what 
his  writings  reveal.  Horace  is  a  perfectly  frank  egotist,  the 
best-bred  and  the  most  agreeable  of  the  tribe.  He  does  not 
scruple  to  write  himself,  anywhere  it  may  happen,  into  his 
verse.  His  audience  were  almost  all  of  them  personally 
known  to  the  poet.  He  met  them  familiarly,  at  the  court  of 
Augustus,  or  on  the  streets,  and  in  the  baths,  of  Rome.  Be 
held  a  well-established  and  a  universally  recognized  position, 
as  the  laureate  of  the  empire  and  the  lyrist  and  the  satirist  of 
Roman  society.  His  natural  complaisance  was  well  supported 
by  an  unperturbed  complacency.  He  went  smiling  through 
his  easy  and  fortunate  experience  of  life,  the  happiest,  or  the 
least  unhappy,  of  Romans.  He  was  a  courtier ;  but  never  was 
courtier  compelled  to  pay  less  for  what  he  enjoyed,  than  was 
Horace.  To  Horace's  honor  let  it  be  also  recorded,  that  never 
perhaps  was  successful  courtier  less  inclined  to  pay  any  thing 
that  could  justly  be  judged  misbecoming  to  himself.  With 
apparently  faultless  suavity  in  manner,  he  maintained  an  en- 
tire manliness  of  bearing  toward  his  patron  Maecenas  and  his 
emperor  Augustus.  It  reflects  credit,  almost  equally,  both 
upon  patronizer  and  patronized,  this  admirable  relation, 
steadfastly  sustained  on  the  one  side,  and  scrupulously 
respected  on  the  other,  between  the  freedman  bachelor  poet 
and  those  two  high-placed  formidable  friends  of  his. 

Freedman,  we  say,  but  Horace  was  removed  by  one  gen- 


262  CLASSIC  LATIN  COURSE  IN  ENGLISH. 

eration  from  the  freedman's  condition.  It  was  his  father  that 
had  once  been  a  slave  and  from  being  a  slave  had  been  raised 
to  a  freedman.  Horace  praised  his  father  with  reason.  The 
son  owed  much  to  the  father.  Freedman  though  he  was,  the 
elder  Horace  had  ideas  that  became  a  Roman  citizen.  He 
gave  his  boy  the  best  chance  that  Rome  could  supply.  He 
tasked  his  own  resources  to  situate  him  well  and  to  educate 
him  as  if  he  were  the  son  of  a  Roman  knight.  According  to 
the  easy  ethical  standard  that  prevailed  at  Rome,  possibly 
above  that  standard,  Horace's  father  and,  after  him,  Horace, 
seem  to  have  been  both  of  them  true  and  good  men.  This 
does  not  mean  that  bachelor  Horace  kept  himself  unspotted, 
either  in  life,  or  in  his  verse.  No,  he  did  things,  and  he 
wrote  things,  that  only  to  mention  would  now  be  an  offense. 
The  world  is  already  somewhat  better,  when  it  is  under  sense 
of  compulsion  to  seem  to  be  better.  And  Christianity,  since 
Horace's  time,  has  at  least  enforced  on  vice  a  heavy  fine 
in  the  form  of  fair  pretense.  Vice  must  now  put  on,  however 
loth,  a  mask  of  virtue. 

Horace,  as  a  young  man,  was  not  incapable  of  enthusiasm. 
He  experienced  an  attack  of  such  emotion,  at  the  time  when, 
Caesar  having  been  slain,  there  was  a  moment  of  promise  that 
the  Republic  would  be  restored.  He  joined  the  republicans 
and  fought  on  their  side  at  Philippi.  In  one  of  his  odes,  he 
alludes,  with  not  unthrifty  humor,  to  his  conduct  on  the 
occasion.  He  threw  away  his  shield,  he  says,  and  ran  for  dear 
life.  In  such  frank  raillery  at  his  own  expense,  he  had  per- 
haps his  purpose.  His  republicanism,  he  would  have  it 
understood,  was  not  serious  enough  to  be  either  dangerous  or 
offensive  to  the  conquerors.  Horace  left  the  ardor  of  enthusi- 
asm behind  him  with  his  youth.  Never,  so  far  as  we  know, 
after  that  affair  at  Philippi,  did  he  do  any  thing  out  of  the 
safely  moderate  and  regular.  He  did  not  cravenly  fling  away 
his  spirit,  but  he  kept  his  spirit  in  good  training.  He  was, 


HORACE.  263 

we  say,  a  prosperous  courtier ;  still  he  remained  a  man  you 
could  respect.  If  Maecenas  hinted  to  him  that  he  did  not 
show  himself  enough  at  Rome,  Horace  replied,  with  perfect 
temper,  that  he  had  his  reasons,  and  that  he  would  rather  re- 
sign the  bounty  that  he  owed  to  the  grace  of  the  great  minis- 
ter, than  leave  the  country  for  the  city  when  those  reasons 
forbade.  Maecenas  had  given  him  a  modest  estate  of  land  in 
the  Sabine  country,  for  which  Horace — he  having,  as  republi- 
can, lost  his  all  through  confiscation — was  properly  grateful  to 
his  patron.  He  addressed  Maecenas  in  many  appreciative  and 
laudatory  odes.  He  paid  similar  tribute  to  Augustus  ;  but  not 
through  any  gracious  imperial  condescension,  did  Augustus 
prevail  to  beguile  the  wary  poet  into  one  moment's  perilous 
parting  with  the  subject's  safe  and  proper  distance  from 
the  sovereign.  Horace  basked  continuously  and  blessedly 
in  the  sunshine  of  court  favor,  never  once  pushed  off 
for  discipline  into  the  outward  cold,  but  also  never  once 
tempted  too  near  into  the  scorching  heat.  The  remaining  in- 
cidents and  relations  of  his  life  will  sufficiently  come  out,  by 
occasion,  in  connection  with  the  pieces  that  we  shall  bring 
forward  to  illustrate  his  genius. 

Horace's  poems  are  classified  as  odes,  epodes  (odes,  simply, 
under  an  arbitrary  alternative  name),  satires,  and  epistles. 

The  odes  are  most  of  them  very  short.  The  stanza  in  them 
is  prevailingly  either  Sapphic  or  Alcaic.  Horace  was  like 
Roman  writers  generally  in  being  open  debtor  to  the  Greek. 
He  subdued  the  difficult  metres  he  borrowed,  with  signal  suc- 
cess, to  his  use. 

The  first  ode  is  inscribed  to  Maecenas.  It  is  not  boldly 
eulogistic,  though,  all  the  more  agreeably,  eulogy  is  implied. 
It  simply  says,  '  Every  man  to  his  taste  ;  I,  for  my  part,  like 
to  make  verses.  Rank  me  thou,  Maecenas,  among  thy  lyric 
bards,  and  I  shall  be  supremely  proud  and  happy.' 

The  second  ode  is  a  tribute  to  Caesar  Augustus.    In  it  occurs 


264  CLASSIC  LATIN  COURSE  IN  ENGLISH. 

the  famous  phrase,  so  familiar  in  quotation,  Serus  in  ccelum 
redeas  !  ('  Late  return  thou  to  the  skies  ! ')  The  emperor  is 
begged  by  the  poet  indulgently  to  cherish  a  fondness  for  being 
styled  father  and  prince  to  his  people. 

The  third  ode  is  addressed  to  the  ship  that  was  to  have  Virgil 
for  passenger  to  Athens.  The  wind  is  charged  to  bear  him 
safely  on  his  way.  It  takes  but  two  stanzas  out  of  the  ten  com- 
posing the  ode,  to  express  adequately  this  sentiment  of  the 
poet's.  The  other  eight  stanzas  are  occupied  with  the  suggested 
idea  of  the  daring  of  man  in  attempting  navigation  of  the 
dreadful  sea.  There  is  no  return  to  what,  from  the  title  of  the 
ode,  should  seem  the  proper  controlling  motive  to  the  poem. 
We  venture  to  think  the  ode  wanting  in  unity  and  consistency 
of  interest.  It  breathes  perhaps  of  Pindar,  in  its  bold  follow- 
ing of  far  suggestion.  Here  are  the  two  opening  stanzas,  those 
in  which  alone  there  is  allusion  to  Virgil.  We  give  them  in 
the  version  of  Dr.  Philip  Francis,  an  admirable,  and  formerly 
a  very  popular,  work  : 

So  may  the  Cyprian  queen  divine, 
And  the  twin  stars  with  saving  lustre  shine ; 

So  may  the  father  of  the  wind 
All  others,  but  the  western  breezes,  bind, 

As  you,  dear  vessel,  safe  restore 
Th'  intrusted  pledge  to  the  Athenian  shore, 

And  of  my  soul  the  partner  save, 
My  much-loved  Virgil,  from  the  raging  wave. 

The  fourth  ode  furnishes  one  of  those  familiar  quotations  of 
which  Horace  is  a  famously  abundant  source  of  supply  to 
literature.  There  is  a  solemn  roll,  as  of  muffled  drums,  a 
solemn  beat,  as  of  slow  footsteps  keeping  time,  in  the  rhythm 
of  the  original  verse,  which  no  translation  reproduces.  We 
are  not  sure  but  plain  prose  translation,  closely  literal,  will 
here  be  the  best  reflex  of  Horace's  sense  and  sound  :  "  Pale 
death,  with  equal  foot,  knocks  at  the  cottages  of  the  poor  and 
at  the  palaces  of  kings."  The  sentiment  indeed  is  common- 


HORACE.  265 

place,  but  the  Horatian  expression  seems  to  the  Latiuist  in- 
imitable. 

The  next  ode  is  one  of  Horace's  amatory  pieces.  These,  in 
general,  are  justly  not  very  pleasing  to  the  modern  taste. 
Horace  seemed  to  know  nothing  of  women,  except  by  the  less 
favorable  specimens  of  their  sex.  The  fifth  ode,  however,  is  a 
comparatively  innocent  erotic  effusion.  It  enjoys  exceptional 
English  fame  from  having  been  translated  by  Milton.  Milton's 
Puritan  conscience  and  imagination  have  unconsciously  almost 
moralized  the  ode  in  rendering  it.  No  English  translator  of 
Horace  can  ever  pass  this  ode  of  his  poet,  without  dipping  his 
colors  to  Milton  as  he  goes  by.  In  his  earlier  editions,  Pro- 
fessor Conington  simply  adopted  Milton's  rendering,  without 
attempting  any  independent  version  of  his  own.  Sir  Theo- 
dore Martin,  incidentally  in  a  note,  calls  Milton's  rendering 
an  "overrated"  piece  of  work — a  judgment,  on  his  part, 
rather  bold  than  wise.  Here  is  Milton's  version — a  little  diffi- 
cult perhaps,  but  not  more  difficult  than  the  original : 

What  slender  youth,  bedew'd  with  liquid,  odours 
Courts  thee  on  roses  in  some  pleasant  cave, 

Py r rha  ?    For  whom  bind'  st  thou 

In  wreaths  thy  golden  hair, 
Plain  in  thy  neatness  ?    O,  how  oft  shall  he 
On  faith  and  changed  gods  complain,  and  seas 

Rough  with  black  winds,  and  storms 

Unwonted,  shall  admire ! 
Who  now  enjoys  thee  credulous,  all  gold, 
Who  always  vacant,  always  amiable 

Hopes  thee,  of  nattering  gales 

Unmindful.    Hapless  they 

To  whom  thou  untried  seem'st  fair !    Me  in  my  vow'd 
Picture,  the  sacred  wall  declares  to  have  hung 

My  dank  and  drooping  weeds 

To  the  stern  god  of  sea. 

A  parallel,  interesting  for  coincidence  as  well  as  for  contrast, 
is  that  between  odes  of  invitation,  like  the  ninth  of  Horace, 
first  book  (also  the  twelfth,  fourth  book),  and  the  sonnets 


266  CLASSIC  LATIN  COURSE  IN  ENGLISH. 

of  invitation  by  Milton,  inscribed  respectively,  "To  Mr. 
Laurence"  and  "To  Cyriack  Skinner."  Horace  (according 
to  Mr.  Martin  again) : 

Pile  up  fresh  logs  upon  the  hearth, 

To  thaw  the  nipping  cold, 
And  forth  from  Sabine  jar,  to  wing 
Our  mirth,  the  ruddy  vine-juice  bring 

Four  mellowing  summers  old. 

Let  not  to-morrow's  change  or  chance 

Perplex  thee,  but  as  gain 
Count  each  new  day !    Let  beauty's  glance 
Engage  thee,  and  the  merry  dance, 

Nor  deem  such  pleasures  vain ! 


The  other  ode  of  invitation  just  mentioned  is  additionally 
interesting  as  being  addressed  to  Virgil.  Virgil  and  Horace 
were  fast  friends.  Tennyson's  epistolary  poem  to  his  friend, 
F.  D.  Maurice,  may  also  be  compared.  Horace  half-playfully, 
half  in  good  earnest,  conditions  his  invitation  to  Virgil.  Vir- 
gil must  bring  some  rare  perfume,  to  pay  for  the  rich  wine 
that  will  be  broached  on  the  occasion  at  Horace's  expense. 
The  Komans  were  as  fond  of  fragrance,  as  of  flavor,  at  their 
feasts.  Horace  now  (translated  by  Sir  Theodore  Martin) : 


Yes,  a  small  box  of  nard  from  the  stores  of  Sulpicius 

A  cask  shall  elicit,  of  potency  rare 
To  endow  with  fresh  hopes,  dewy-bright  and  delicious, 

And  wash  from  our  hearts  every  cobweb  of  care. 

If  you'd  dip  in  such  joys,  come— the  better  the  quicker  !- 
But  remember  the  fee — for  it  suits  not  my  ends, 

To  let  you  make  havoc,  scot-free,  with  my  liquor, 
As  though  I  were  one  of  your  heavy-pursed  friends. 

To  the  winds  with  base  lucre  and  pale  melancholy  !— 
In  the  flames  of  the  pyre  these,  alas  I  will  be  vain, 

Mix  your  sage  ruminations  with  glimpses  of  folly, — 
'Tis  delightful  at  times  to  be  somewhat  insane ! 


HORACE.  267 

Milton  unbends  in  a  manner  very  different  from  the  fore- 
going. His  conscience  never  lets  up  even  in  his  most  relaxed 
literary  moods.  Horace  did  not  keep  a  conscience.  He  was 
simply  a  man  of  honor,  as  the  world  went,  the  world  of  his 
day  and  place. 

Another  poem  to  Virgil,  very  different  from  the  one  last 
quoted,  is  the  famous  twenty-fourth  ode  of  the  first  book — a 
lyric  of  sorrow  and  consolation  on  occasion  of  the  death  of 
a  common  beloved  friend.  There  is  not,  there  cannot  be,  any 
adequate  rendering  of  this  fine  ode.  "What  shame  should 
there  be,  or  limit,  to  the  sense  of  loss  indulged  for  so  dear  a 
head?" — thus  Horace  begins.  "So  then  Quinctilius  the 
perpetual  slumber  plies!"  "Quinctilius — to  him,  ah,  when 
will  Purity,  and — sister  she  to  Justice — inviolate  Faith,  and 
Truth  unclad,  find  ever  any  equal  ?  "  How  bald,  how  harsh, 
the  literal  English  of  the  consummate  Latin  looks !  The 
charm  dwells  in  the  first  perfect  form.  It  is  felt  there  by 
the  scholar,  but  it  is  not,  we  suppose,  transferable  thence  to 
any  other  than  he.  We  have  known  an  inimitably  fine  effect 
to  be  produced  by  apt  quotation  of  the  first  two  stanzas, 
untranslated,  of  this  ode,  for  an  occasion,  the  academic  at- 
mosphere of  which  made  the  classic  Latin  itself  appropriate. 

A  very  vengeful  allusion  to  Cleopatra — vengeful,  but  re- 
lenting at  last  into  Roman  admiration  of  the  spirit  she  dis- 
played in  her  disaster,  in  daring  suicidal  death  as  preferable  to 
the  disgrace  of  being  driven  in  triumph  through  the  streets  of 
Rome — occurs  in  the  thirty-seventh  of  the  first  book  of  odes. 
It  will  remind  our  readers  of  Tennyson's  stanzas  on  the  same 
subject,  in  his  Dream  of  Fair  Women.  Here  are  the  conclud- 
ing stanzas  (according  to  Dr.  Francis) : 

With  fearless  hand  she  dared  to  grasp 
The  writhings  of  the  wrathful  asp, 
And  suck  the  poison  through  her  veins, 
Resolved  on  death,  and  fiercer  from  its  pains. 
Then  scorning  to  be  led  the  boast 


268  CLASSIC  LATIN  COURSE  IN  ENGLISH. 

Of  mighty  Caesar's  naval  host, 
And  arm'd  with  more  than  mortal  spleen, 
Defrauds  a  triumph,  and  expires  a  queen. 

The  tenth  of  the  second  book  is  too  characteristic  of  the 
writer,  too  good  in  itself,  too  celebrated,  and  it  has  been  by 
the  poet  Cowper  too  happily  translated,  not  to  be  given  by 
us  here  entire.  It  is  a  eulogy  of  the  "golden  mean"  : 

Receive,  dear  friends,  the  truths  I  teach, 
So  shalt  thou  live  beyond  the  reach 

Of  adverse  Fortune's  power ; 
Not  always  tempt  the  distant  deep, 
Nor  always  timorously  creep 

Along  the  treacherous  shore. 

He  that  holds  fast  the  golden  mean 
And  lives  contentedly  between 

The  little  and  the  great, 
Feels  not  the  wants  that  pinch  the  poor, 
Nor  plagues  that  haunt  the  rich  man's  door, 

Imbittering  all  his  state. 

The  tallest  pines  feel  most  the  power 
Of  wintry  blasts ;  the  loftiest  tower 

Comes  heaviest  to  the  ground ; 
The  bolts  that  spare  the  mountain's  side 
His  cloud-capt  eminence  divide, 

And  spread  the  ruin  round. 

The  well-informed  philosopher 
Rejoices  with  a  wholesome  fear, 

And  hopes  in  spite  of  pain ; 
If  winter  bellow  from  the  north 
Soon  the  sweet  spring  comes  dancing  forth, 

And  Nature  laughs  again. 

What  if  thine  heaven  be  overcast  ? 
The  dark  appearance  will  not  last ; 

Expect  a  brighter  sky. 
The  god  that  strings  a  silver  bow 
Awakes  sometimes  the  Muses  too, 

And  lays  his  arrows  by. 

If  hindrances  obstruct  thy  way, 
Thy  magnanimity  display, 


HORACE.  269 

And  let  thy  strength  be  seen : 
But  O !  if  Fortune  fill  thy  sail 
With  more  than  a  propitious  gale, 

Take  half  thy  canvas  in. 

Christian  Cowper  was  unable  to  translate  so  earth-bound 
a  poetic  philosophy  of  life  as  the  foregoing,  without  being 
moved  to  monitory  reflection.  He  moralizes,  in  a  rhymed 
sequel,  as  follows : 

And  is  this  all  ?    Can  Reason  do  no  more 

Than  bid  me  shun  the  deep  and  dread  the  shore  ? 

Sweet  moralist !  afloat  on  life's  rough  sea, 

The  Christian  has  an  art  unknown  to  thee : 

He  holds  no  parley  with  unmanly  fears ; 

Where  duty  bids  he  confidently  steers, 

Faces  a  thousand  dangers  at  her  call, 

And,  trusting  in  his  God,  surmounts  them  all. 

In  the  eleventh  of  the  second  book  of  odes,  appears  a  touch, 
a  mere  touch,  on  the  topic  of  advancing  old  age,  that  reminds 
one,  by  subtle  association,  of  our  own  half-Horatian  American 
poet  of  occasions,  Oliver  Wendell  Holmes.  We  all  know  the 
humorous-pathetic  fondness  of  Dr.  Holmes's  verse  for  this 
theme.  And  then,  besides,  the  convivial  spirit  here  conjoined 
is  not  alien  to  the  parallel.  Horace  (according  to  Sir  Theodore 
Martin) : 

Say,  why  should  we  not,  flung  at  ease  'neath  this  pine, 
Or  a  plane-tree's  broad  umbrage,  quaff  gayly  our  wine, 

While  the  odours  of  Syrian  nard  and  the  rose 
Breathe  sweet  from  locks  tipp'd,  and  just  tipp'd,  with  Time's 
snows. 

It  was  one  of  the  fortunes  of  Horace's  life  to  escape  death, 
on  a  certain  occasion,  very  narrowly,  from  the  accidental 
falling  of  a  tree.  He  makes  the  occurrence  the  subject  of 
an  ode,  the  thirteenth  of  the  second  book.  The  opening 
stanzas  are  maledictory.  He  thinks  the  planter  of  that  tree 
must  have  been  a  man  of  many  crimes,  actual  or  potential. 
After  an  imaginary  list  of  such,  he  says  (Martin)  : 


270  CLASSIC  LATIN  COURSE  IN  ENGLISH. 

All  this  he  must  have  done— or  could— 
I'm  sure — the  wretch,  that  stuck  thee  down, 

Thou  miserable  stump  of  wood, 
To  topple  on  thy  master's  crown, 

Who  ne'er  designed  thee  any  harm, 

Here  on  my  own,  my  favorite  farm. 

A  strain  follows,  of  higher  mood  : 

How  nearly  in  her  realms  of  gloom 

I  dusky  Proserpine  had  seen, 
Seen  JEacus  dispensing  doom, 

And  the  Elysian  fields  serene, 
Heard  Sappho  to  her  lute  complain 
Of  unrequited  passion's  pain : 

Heard  thee,  too,  O  Alcseus,  tell, 

Striking  the  while  thy  golden  lyre, 
With  fuller  note  and  statelier  swell, 

The  sorrows  and  disasters  dire 
Of  warfare  and  the  ocean  deep, 
And  those  that  far  in  exile  weep. 

While  shades  round  either  singer  throng, 

And  the  deserved  tribute  pay 
Of  sacred  silence  to  their  song, 

Yet  chiefly  crowd  to  hear  the  lay 
Of  battles  old  to  story  known, 
And  haughty  tyrants  overthrown. 

What  wonder  they,  their  ears  to  feast, 
Should  thickly  throng,  when  by  these  lays 

Entranced,  the  hundred-headed  beast 
Drops  his  black  ears  in  sweet  amaze, 

And  even  the  snakes  are  charmed,  as  they 

Among  the  Furies'  tresses  play. 

Nay  even  Prometheus,  and  the  sire 

Of  Pelops,  cheated  of  their  pains, 
Forget  awhile  their  doom  of  ire 

In  listening  to  the  wondrous  strains ; 
Nor  doth  Orion  longer  care 
To  hunt  the  lynx  or  lion  there. 

Allusion  to  this   nigh-fatal   tree   recurs  often  throughout 
the  odes. 
In  the  fifteenth  of  the  second  book  of  odes,  Horace  appears 


HORACE.  271 

as  upbraider  of  his  own  degenerate  times.  He  inveighs 
against  the  growing  luxury  of  private  landscape  gardening 
and  architecture.  Sir  Theodore  Martin  renders : 

It  was  not  so  when  Romulus 

Our  greatness  fostered  in  its  prime, 
Nor  did  our  great  forefathers  thus, 

In  unshorn  Gate's  simple  time. 

Men's  private  fortunes  then  were  low, 

The  public  income  great ;  in  these 
Good  times  no  long-drawn  portico 

Caught  for  its  lord  the  northern  breeze. 

Nor  did  the  laws  our  sires  permit 

Sods  dug  at  random  to  despise 
As  for  their  daily  homes  unfit ; 

And  yet  they  bade  our  cities  rise 

More  stately  at  the  public  charge, 

And  did,  to  their  religion  true, 
The  temples  of  the  gods  enlarge, 

And  with  fair-sculptured  stone  renew. 

There  is  a  note  struck  here  that  rings  in  the  sense  like  that 
querulous  line  of  Wordsworth, 

Plain  living  and  high  thinking  are  no  more ! 

The  first  ode  of  the  third  book,  entitled  "  In  Praise  of  Con- 
tentment,"  is  in  part  a  very  fine  variation  of  this.  But  the 
motive  of  the  poem  last  alluded  to — it  is  a  motive  familiar 
with  Horace — is  different.  See  the  following  extracts  from 
Martin's  rendering : 

Ye  rabble  rout,  avaunt ! 

Your  vulgar  din  give  o'er, 
Whilst  I  the  Muses'  own  hierophant, 
To  the  pure  ears  of  youths  and  virgins  chant 

In  strains  unheard  before ! 

The  fish  are  conscious  that  a  narrower  bound 
Is  drawn  the  seas  around 
By  masses  huge  hurl'd  down  into  the  deep ; 


272  CLASSIC  LATIN  COURSE  IN  ENGLISH. 

There  at  the  bidding  of  a  lord,  for  whom 
Not  all  the  land  he  owns  is  ample  room, 
Do  the  contractor  and  his  laborers  heap 
Vast  piles  of  stone,  the  ocean  back  to  sweep. 
But  let  him  climb  in  pride, 

That  lord  of  halls  unblest, 

Up  to  his  lordly  nest, 
Yet  ever  by  his  side 

Climb  Terror  and  Unrest ; 
Within  the  brazen  galley's  sides 

Care,  ever  wakeful,  flits, 
And  at  his  back,  when  forth  in  state  he  rides, 

Her  withering  shadow  sits. 

If  thus  it  fare  with  all ; 
If  neither  marbles  from  the  Phrygian  mine 
Nor  star-bright  robes  of  purple  and  of  pall 

Nor  the  Falernian  vine, 
Nor  costliest  balsams,  fetch'd  from  farthest  Ind, 

Can  soothe  the  restless  mind ; 

Why  should  I  choose 
To  rear  on  high,  as  modern  spendthrifts  use, 

A  lofty  hall,  might  be  the  home  for  kings, 
With  portals  vast,  for  Malice  to  abuse, 
Or  Envy  make  her  theme  to  point  a  tale ; 

Or  why  for  wealth,  which  new-born  trouble  brings, 
Exchange  my  Sabine  vale  ? 

One  of  the  happiest  bits  of  Sir  Theodore  Martin's  workman- 
ship chances  to  coincide  with  one  of  the  most  characteristic, 
and  one  of  the  best,  felicities  of  the  original  master  himself. 
We  take  a  few  stanzas  out  of  the  sixteenth  of  the  second  book 
of  odes :  . 

He  lives  on  little,  and  is  blest, 
On  whose  plain  board  the  bright 
Salt-cellar  shines,  which  was  his  sires'  delight, 

Nor  terrors,  nor  cupidity's  unrest, 
Disturb  his  slumbers  light. 

Why  should  we  still  project  and  plan, 

We  creatures  of  an  hour  ? 

Why  fly  from  clime  to  clime,  new  regions  scour? 
Where  is  the  exile,  who,  since  time  began, 

To  fly  from  self  had  power  ? 


HORACE.  273 

Fell  care  climbs  brazen  galleys'  sides , 

Nor  troops  of  horse  can  fly 

Her  foot,  which  than  the  stag's  is  swifter,  ay, 
Swifter  than  Eurus,  when  he  madly  rides 

The  clouds  along  the  sky. 

Careless  what  lies  beyond  to  know, 

And  turning  to  the  best 

The  present,  meet  life's  bitters  with  a  jest, 
And  smile  them  down ;  since  nothing  here  below 

Is  altogether  blest. 

In  manhood's  prime  Achilles  died, 

Tithonus  by  the  slow 

Decay  of  age  was  wasted  to  a  show, 
And  Time  may  what  it  hath  to  thee  denied 

On  me  perchance  bestow. 

To  me  a  farm  of  modest  size, 

And  slender  vein  of  song, 

Such  as  in  Greece  flowed  vigorous  and  strong, 
Kind  fate  has  given,  and  spirit  to  despise 

The  base,  malignant  throng. 

There  is  Horace's  philosophy  of  life,  summed  up  in  an  ode. 

With  the  epicurean's  optimistic  pessimism,  exemplified  in 
the  foregoing  ode,  Horace  united  the  Roman's  thirst  for 
posthumous  fame.  And  of  posthumous  fame,  an  immortality 
of  it,  Horace  was,  in  his  own  mind,  not  less  sure  than  was 
contemporary  Ovid.  The  twentieth  of  the  second  book,  in- 
scribed "To  Maecenas,"  deals  with  this  topic,  expressing 
boldly  the  poet's  confidence  of  his  own  future  renown.  We 
take,  however,  a  shorter  variation  on  the  same  theme,  the 
thirtieth  of  the  third  book,  a  still  more  celebrated  ode  of 
Horace's,  which  is  well  rendered  by  Sir  Theodore  Martin  : 

I've  reared  a  monument,  my  own, 

More  durable  than  brass, 
Yea,  kingly  pyramids  of  stone 

In  height  it  doth  surpass. 

Rain  shall  not  sap,  nor  driving  blast 
Disturb  its  settled  base, 


274  CLASSIC  LATIN  COURSE  IN  ENGLISH. 

Nor  countless  ages  rolling  past 
Its  symmetry  deface. 

I  shall  not  wholly  die.    Some  part, 

Nor  that  a  little,  shall 
Escape  the  dark  destroyer's  dart, 

And  his  grim  festival. 

For  long  as  with  his  Vestals  mute 

Rome's  Pontifex  shall  climb 
The  Capitol,  my  fame  shall  shoot 

Fresh  buds  through  future  time. 

Where  brawls  loud  Aufidus,  and  came 

Parch' d  Daunus  erst,  a  horde 
Of  rustic  boors  to  sway,  my  name 

Shall  be  a  household  word ; 

As  one  who  rose  from  mean  estate, 

The  first  with  poet  fire 
JEolic  song  to  modulate 

To  the  Italian  lyre,  i 

Then,  grant,  Melpomene,  thy  son 

Thy  guerdon  proud  to  wear, 
And  Delphic  laurels  duly  won 

Bind  thou  upon  my  hair ! 

The  Dulce  et  decorum  est  pro  patria  mori,  so  familiar  a 
quotation  of  patriotism,  is  a  sentiment  and  expression  of 
Horace's,  occurring  in  the  second  of  the  third  book  of  odes. 
The  whole  ode  is  very  fine. 

There  is  no  loftier  moral  height  touched  anywhere  by  the 
wing  of  the  Horatian  muse,  than  that  of  the  opening  of  the 
third  ode  of  the  third  book.  Justum  et  tenacem  propositi 
virum,  is  the  lordly  first  line.  How  it  fills  the  mouth  that 
utters  it !  The  sound  is  almost  enough  to  convey  the  sense, 
even  to  English  ears  unskilled  of  Latin.  Here  is  Martin's 
resonant  rendering  of  the  first  two  stanzas  : 

He  that  is  just,  and  firm  of  will 

Doth  not  before  the  fury  quake 
Of  mobs  that  instigate  to  ill, 
Nor  hath  the  tyrant's  menace  skill 

His  fixed  resolve  to  shake : 


HORACE.  275 

Nor  Auster,  at  whose  wild  command 

The  Adriatic  billows  dash, 
Nor  Jove's  dread  thunder-launching  hand. 
Yea,  if  the  globe  should  fall,  he'll  stand 

Serene  amidst  the  crash. 

(u  Auster  "  is  the  name  of  a  wind.) 

Like,  in  the  lofty  Roman  spirit  of  it,  is  the  fifth  of  book 
third,  which  sings  Regulus.  Livy,  become  lyrist,  might  have 
written  such  an  ode.  The  story  of  Regulus  will  be  recalled  by 
our  readers.  Taken  prisoner  by  the  Carthaginians  in  the  First 
Punic  War,  he  was,  after  years  of  captivity,  despatched  to 
Rome  (under  his  promise  to  return,  if  unsuccessful  in  his 
embassy)  charged  from  his  captors  to  recommend  peace  on 
conditions  humiliating  to  his  country.  He  stoutly  advised 
his  countrymen  to  reject  the  terms  proposed.  Returning  to 
Carthage,  he  was,  with  cruel  torture,  put  to  death.  This 
latter  part  of  the  story  of  Regulus  is  now  not  generally 
credited.  Horace  makes  fine  use  of  the  proud,  if  in  part 
doubtful,  tradition.  We  again  let  Sir  Theodore  translate  for 
us.  He  certainly  does  upon  occasion  take  fire  from  his 
original,  and  kindle  into  true  poet's  flame.  Horace  has  just 
bemoaned  the  poltroon  degeneracy  of  his  countrymen : 


Ah,  well  he  feared  such  shame  for  us, 
The  brave,  far-seeing  Regulus, 
When  he  the  vile  conditions  spurn'd, 
That  might  to  precedent  be  turn'd, 
With  ruin  and  disaster  fraught 
To  after  times,  should  they  be  taught 
Another  creed  than  this, — "  They  die 
Unwept,  who  brook  captivity ! " 

"I've  seen,"  he  cried,  "  our  standards  hung 
In  Punic  fanes,  our  weapons  wrung 
From  Roman  hands  without  a  blow  ; 
Our  citizens,  I've  seen  them  go 
With  arms  behind  their  free  backs  tied, 
Gates  I  have  seen  flung  open  wide, 


276  CLASSIC  LATIN  COURSE  IN  ENGLISH. 

Ay,  Roman  troops  I've  seen  disgraced 
To  till  the  plains  they  had  laid  waste ! 

11  Will  he  return  more  brave  and  bold, 
The  soldier  you  redeem  with  gold  ? 
You  add  but  loss  unto  disgrace. 
Its  native  whiteness  once  efface 
With  curious  dyes ;  you  can  no  more 
That  whiteness  to  the  wool  restore ; 
Nor  is  true  valor,  once  debased, 
In  souls  corrupt  to  be  replaced ! 

"  If  from  the  tangled  meshes  freed, 
The  stag  will  battle,  then  indeed 
May  he  conspicuous  valor  show, 
Who  trusted  the  perfidious  foe, — 
He  smite  upon  some  future  field 
The  Carthaginian,  who  could  yield 
In  fear  of  death  his  arms  to  be 
Bound  up  with  thongs  submissively ! 
Content  to  draw  his  caitiff  breath, 
Nor  feel  such  life  is  worse  than  death ! 
O  shame !  O  mighty  Carthage,  thou 
On  Rome's  fallen  glories  towerest  now !  " 

From  his  chaste  wife's  embrace,  they  say, 
And  babes,  he  tore  himself  away, 
As  he  had  forfeited  the  right 
To  clasp  them  as  a  freeman  might ; 
Then  sternly  on  the  ground  he  bent 
His  manly  brow ;  and  so  he  lent 
Decision  to  the  senate's  voice, 
That  paused  and  waver' d  in  its  choice, 
And  forth  the  noble  exile  strode, 
Whilst  friends  in  anguish  lined  the  road. 

Noble  indeed !  for,  though  he  knew 
What  tortures  that  barbarian  crew 
Had  ripe  for  him,  he  waved  aside 
The  kin  that  did  his  purpose  chide, 
The  thronging  crowds,  that  strove  to  stay 
His  passage,  with  an  air  as  gay, 
As  though  at  close  of  some  decree 
Upon  a  client's  lawsuit  he 
Its  dreary  coil  were  leaving  there, 
To  green  Venafrum  to  repair 


HORACE.  277 

Or  to  Tarentum's  breezy  shore 

Where  Spartans  built  their  town  of  yore. 

We  shall  supply  a  lively  contrast  to  the  tense  high  strain 
of  the  preceding  odes,  by  introducing  here  the  ninth  of  the 
third  book.  This  is  an  Am-oe-be/an  ode,  so-called — one,  that 
is,  composed  of  alternately  responsive  stanzas.  It  is  a  very 
famous  little  piece.  It  will  indicate  the  variety  of  genius  and 
character  that  Horace  has,  in  every  age,  attracted  to  illustrate 
his  verse— at  the  same  time  exhibiting  our  ode  in  a  really  fine 
version  of  it — if  we  take  Bishop  Atterbury's  rendering,  not 
obsolete,  though  executed  so  long  ago  as  1700  : 

Horace.  While  I  was  fond,  and  you  were  kind, 
Nor  any  dearer  youth,  reclined 
On  your  soft  bosom,  sought  to  rest, 
Phraates  was  not  half  so  bless' d. 

Lydia.  While  you  ador'd  no  other  face, 
Nor  loved  me  in  the  second  place, 
My  happy  celebrated  fame 
Outshone  e'en  Ilia's  envied  flame. 

H.  Me  Chloe  now  possesses  whole, 

Her  voice  and  lyre  command  my  soul ; 
Nor  would  I  death  itself  decline, 
Could  her  life  ransom' d  be  with  mine. 

L.  For  me  young  lovely  Calais  burns, 

And  warmth  for  warmth  my  heart  returns, 
Twice  would  I  life  with  ease  resign, 
Could  his  be  ransom' d  once  with  mine. 

H.  What  if  sweet  love,  whose  bands  we  broke, 
Again  should  tame  us  to  the  yoke ; 
Should  banished  Chloe  cease  to  reign, 
And  Lydia  her  lost  power  regain  ? 

L.  Though  Hesperus  be  less  fair  than  he, 
Thou  wilder  than  the  raging  sea, 
Lighter  than  down  ;  yet  gladly  I 
With  thee  would  live,  with  thee  would  die. 

We  have  now  done  with  the  odes  of  Horace.  In  thus  dis- 
missing them,  let  us  keep  ourselves  in  countenance  with  our 
readers  by  quoting,  from  the  preface  to  his  English  Horace, 


278  CLASSIC  LATIN  COURSE  IN  ENGLISH. 

an  expression  of  Mr.  Conington's  to  confirm  our  own  at  once 
disparaging  and  admiring  appreciation  of  these  celebrated 
Latin  lyrics : 

"  It  is  only  the  attractiveness  of  the  Latin,  half  real,  half  per- 
haps arising  from  association  and  the  romance  of  a  language 
not  one's  own,  that  makes  us  feel  this  '  lyrical  commonplace' 
more  supportable  than  commonplace  is  usually  found  to  be." 

The  satires  proper  of  Horace — his  satires,  we  mean,  ex- 
pressly so  named — for  the  Horatian  satiric  vein  runs  also 
through  the  poetical  epistles  of  this  author — we  shall  have 
room,  as  in  fact  we  shall  have  need,  to  detain  but  very  briefly 
under  notice.  Of  the  epistles  we  shall  perforce  content  our- 
selves with  the  merest  mention.  We  simply  now,  for  insertion 
here,  detach  from  the  sixth  satire,  second  book,  of  Horace,  the 
fable  of  The  Town  and  Country  Mouse.  This  is  well  rendered 
in  rattling  octosyllabics  by  Martin  ;  but  we  present  instead  a 
version  which,  besides  being  more  exactly  literal  than  that, 
is  conformed  in  metre  to  the  hexameter  Latin  original.  (We 
ought  to  explain  that,  at  one  point  in  the  story,  Horace 
humorously  incorporates,  for  mock-heroic  effect,  a  Virgilian 
assemblage  of  words  to  mark  the  hour  of  midnight.  By  way 
of  exception  to  our  own  literal  exactness  in  rendering,  we 
have  ventured  to  reproduce  (in  English)  this  stroke  of  Horatian 
humor,  by  making  conscript  a  slow-moving  spondaic  line  of 
Milton's  "  Paradise  Lost,"  to  serve  the  same  purpose.) 

The  fable  translated  is  playfully  introduced  by  Horace, 
as  a  threadbare  story  told  by  a  guest,  at  a  banquet  imagined  to 
take  place  in  the  country,  where  high  themes  are  discussed. 
Cervus,  a  neighbor  of  Horace's,  is  one  of  those  men  whose 
idea  of  helping  on  conversation  is  to  contribute  a  story.  Some 
one  has  remarked  on  the  anxious  wealth  of  Arellius,  when 
Cervus  snuffs  his  chance  and  begins : 

Once,  runs  the  story,  a  mouse  of  the  country  within  his  poor 
cavern 


HORACE.  279 

Welcomed  a  mouse  of  the  city — old  cronies  they  each  of  the  other- 
Manners  uncouth,  sharp  eye  to  his  hoard,  yet  disposed  notwith- 
standing, 
Acting  the  host,  his  close  heart  to  unbind.     Why  multiply  words  ? 

He 

Neither  the  stored-away  chick-pea  grudged,  nor  his  longest  oat- 
kernel. 

Forth  in  his  mouth  he,  bringing  the  dry  plum,  also  his  nibbled 
Bacon-bits,  gave  them,  eager  with  various  banquet  to  vanquish 
Niceness  of  guest  scarce  touching  with  tooth  of  disdain  any  viand : 
While,  stretched  on  fresh  litter  of  straw,  he,  lord  of  the  household, 
Ate  him  a  spelt-grain  or  darnel,  the  choicer  provisions  not  sharing. 

Finally,  city-bred  says  to  the  other:  "  What  is  it,  companion, 
Tempts  you,  enduring,  to  live  on  the  ridge  abrupt  of  the  forest  ? 
You,  too — will  you  prefer  men  and  town  to  the  fierce  savage  wild- 
wood? 

Up  and  away — trust,  comrade,  to  me ;  since  creatures  terrestrial 
Live  allotted  a  mortal  portion  of  breath,  nor  is  any 
Refuge  from  death  to  great  or  to  small :  so,  my  excellent  fellow, 
While  it  is  granted  you,  live  in  agreeable  wise,  well-conditioned ; 
Live  recollecting  of  span  how  brief  you  are !  " 

Soon  as  these  speeches 
Wrought  on  the  swain,  he  out  of  his  dwelling  lightly  leaps  forth : 

thence 

Press  they,  the  pair,  on  the  journey  proposed,  being  keenly  desirous 
Under  the  walls  of  the  city  to  creep  as  night-farers.    And  night  now 
'  Half-way  up  hill  this  vast  sublunar  vault '  clomb,  when 
Each  of  the  mice  set  foot  in  a  palace  resplendent,  where  drapings 
Tinctured  crimson  in  grain  were  glowing  on  ivory  couches. 
Numberless  dishes  remaining  from  yesterday's  sumptuous  supper 
There  at  remove  stood  in  panniers  loftily  built  like  a  turret. 

So  when  now  he  has  placed  at  his  ease  on  a  couch-spread  of  purple 
Countryman  mouse,  obsequious  host  he  runs  hither  and  thither, 
Course  after  course  the  supper  prolongs,  and,  with  flourish  of 

service, 

Does  all  the  honors  in  form,  whatever  he  offers  foretasting. 
HE,  reclining,  rejoices  in  altered  estate,  and  in  plenty 
Plays  you  the  part  of  jolly  good  fellow — when,  sudden,  a  mighty 
Rumble  of  doors  rolling  open  both  of  them  shook  from  their 

couches : 

Helter-skelter  scampering  went  they,  stricken  with  terror— 
Growingly  breathless  with  panic  they  quake,  while  rings  the  great 

mansion 


280  CLASSIC  LATIN  COURSE  IN  ENGLISH. 

Loud  to  the  baying  of  mastiffs  Molossian. 

Then  countryman  mouse  said : 
"  Life  such  as  this  I've  no  use  for ;  good-bye  to  you :  me,  with  the 

lowly 
Vetch,  shall  the  woods,  and  a  cave  secure  from  surprises,  make 

happy." 

It  is  the  contrast  of  the  leisurely  and  remote  conversation 
conceived  thus  as  passing  at  the  supposed  banquet  in  the 
country — the  contrast  of  this  with  the  hurried  and  exciting 
scenes  and  occasions  of  life  in  the  city,  that  affords  the  mild 
flavor  of  satire  discoverable  in  this  composition  of  Horace's. 

Among  the  Epistles  of  Horace,  there  are  two  decidedly  more 
interesting  and  more  valuable  for  modern  readers  than  any 
of  the  others.  These  are  the  Epistle  to  Augustus  and  that 
to  the  Pisos.  The  latter  is  generally  called  "The  Art  of 
Poetry,"  such  being  in  fact  the  didactic  subject  of  the  epistle. 
Horace's  "  Ars  Poetica"  enjoys  a  high  repute  for  the  sound- 
ness of  its  inculcation  on  the  subject  which  it  treats.  We 
cannot  do  more  than  thus  ceremoniously  salute  this  piece  in 
passing  it.  We  may,  however,  suggest  to  our  readers  that  if 
they  will  study  Pope's  "  Essay  on  Criticism,"  they  will  find 
that  a  lively  and  agreeable  way  of  getting  at  the  spirit,  and 
at  no  small  part  also  of  the  wisdom,  of  the  ancient  production. 

The  facility  with  which  Horace  lends  himself  to  such  adap- 
tations as  Pope's,  may  serve  to  remind  one  how  fundamentally 
the  same  from  age  to  age,  and  from  race  to  race,  our  common 
human  nature  remains.  It  may  serve  also  to  show  that 
Horace  was  in  this  at  least  a  poet  for  all  time.  He  took  hold 
of  what  is  permanent  in  the  constitution  of  our  human  frame. 

Both  as  man,  and  as  man  of  letters,  Horace  was  of  the 
world,  eminently  so,  and  the  world  will  always  love  its 
own.  His  fame  will  easily  last  as  long  as  the  world  lasts — 
or  as  the  fashion  of  the  world  lasts.  And  no  one  will  grudge 
so  accomplished  and  so  agreeable  a  man  his  merited  reward. 


CHAPTEE  XII. 

JUVENAL. 

IF  Tacitus  had  been  a  poet,  he  would  have  been  a  poet  like 
Ju've-nal.  If  Juvenal  had  been  an  historian,  he  would  have 
been  an  historian  like  Tacitus.  Both  alike  were  satirists. 
The  difference  is  that  Tacitus  satirized  incidentally,  and  in 
prose,  while  Juvenal  satirized  expressly,  and  in  verse. 

It  was  noted  by  the  Romans  themselves  that  satire  was  a 
literary  form — the  only  one — of  their  own  origination.  Juve- 
nal was  by  no  means  the  first  in  time,  though  he  is  so  far  the 
first  in  power,  among  Roman  satirists.  Horace  was  a  satirist 
before  Juvenal,  as  Lucilius  was  a  satirist  before  Horace.  Of 
Lucilius,  true  founder  of  Roman  satire,  only  fragments  re- 
main. Between  Horace  and  Juvenal  came  Persius,  but  those 
two  are  for  us  the  representative  satirists  of  Rome. 

Horace's  satires  have  the  character  of  amateur  performances, 
in  comparison  with  the  satires  of  Juvenal.  Horace  had  not 
depth  enough  of  nature,  had  not  strength  enough  of  conviction, 
to  make  him  a  really  powerful  satirist.  He  experimented,  he 
toyed,  with  the  satiric  vein.  Juvenal  satirized  in  dead  earnest. 
He  did  not  play  at  his  task.  He  wrought  at  it  with  might  and 
main.  His  whole  soul  was  in  it,  and  his  soul  was  large  and 
strong.  Satire,  in  his  hands,  was  less  a  lash,  even  a  Roman 
lash,  than  a  sword.  It  did  not  sting.  It  cut.  It  did  not  cut 
simply  the  skin.  It  cut  the  flesh.  It  cut  the  flesh  to  the  bone. 
It  clove  the  bone  to  the  marrow.  Hardly  ever,  in  the  history 
•of  literature,  has  such  a  weapon  been  wielded  by  any  writer. 

281 


282  CLASSIC  LATIN  COURSE  IN  ENGLISH. 

Who  was  Juvenal?  No  one  knows.  He  was  this  satirist. 
That  is  all  we  know  of  him.  As  a  man,  he  is  nothing  but 
a  name.  Not  that  there  are  not  traditions  about  Juvenal. 
But  there  are  no  traditions  that  we  can  trust.  When  he  lived, 
is  uncertain.  We  know  only  that  it  was  about  the  close  of  the 
first  century  after  Christ.  He  had  seen  the  empire  under 
several  emperors.  Some  think  that,  having  written  earlier, 
he  finally  published  under  Trajan — a  ruler  great  enough,  and 
strong  enough,  and  wise,  as  well  as  generous,  enough,  to  let 
the  satirist  say  his  say,  unhindered  and  unharmed.  Not  quite 
to  the  end,  however,  unharmed — if  we  are  to  trust  the  legend 
which  relates  that  Juvenal  was  honorably,  and  as  it  were 
satirically,  punished  for  the  freedom  of  his  pen,  by  being  sent 
to  Egypt  at  eighty  years  of  age  to  command  a  cohort  stationed 
in  that  province.  He  there  soon  died  of  his  vexation  and 
chagrin.  Such  is  the  story ;  but  the  story  has  no  voucher. 
Juvenal  is  personally  a  great  unknown.  But  can  the  man 
justly  be  called  unknown  who  has  written  what  Juvenal  has 
written?  The  incidents  of  his  life,  the  traits  of  his  personal 
appearance,  we  are  ignorant  of — but  do  we  not  know  Juvenal 
by  what  is  far  more  central  and  essential  in  his  character  ? 

The  answer  to  that  question  depends  upon  whether  we  take 
Juvenal's  satires  to  shadow  forth  the  real  sentiments  of  the 
satirist,  or  to  have  been  written  by  him  in  mere  wanton  play 
of  wit,  "without  a  conscience  or  an  aim."  Opposite  views 
have  been  contended  for  on  this  point,  but  the  present  writer 
is  sure  he  feels  the  pulse  of  personal  sincerity  beating  strong  in 
Juvenal's  satires.  It  was  the  morals,  much  more  than  it  was 
the  manners,  of  the  Roman  empire,  that  engaged  the  genius 
of  Juvenal.  That  the  satirist  himself  remained  a  model  of 
virtue,  amid  the  general  corruption  that  rotted  around  him, 
we  should  be  far  from  maintaining.  But  Juvenal's  conscience 
was  on  the  side  of  virtue — his  conscience,  or  at  least  his  Roman 
pride  and  scorn.  He  truly  despised  vice,  if  he  did  not  truly 


JUVENAL.  283 

reprobate  vice.  Scorn  edged  the  blade,  and  scorn  urged  the 
blow. 

It  is  a  pity,  but  for  reasons  of  propriety,  we  cannot  show  our 
readers  the  one  satire  in  particular  which  staggers,  for  many, 
their  faith  in  Juvenal,  but  by  which,  we  confess,  our  own 
faith  in  Juvenal  is  confirmed.  Vice  was  so  flagrant  in  impe- 
rial Rome,  that  only  to  name  what  was  done  there  would  now 
be  an  intolerable  offense.  But  Juvenal  named  it,  and  never 
flinched.  He  painted  it  with  colors  dipped  in  hell.  You  look 
at  the  picture  aghast.  No  wonder  if  for  a  moment  you  feel 
such  a  picture  to  be  as  wicked  as  that  itself  was,  of  which  this 
is  a  picture.  The  picture  breathes  and  burns.  It  is  not  like 
life — it  is  life.  The  artist  has  not  depicted  sin — he  has  com- 
mitted sin. 

But  look  again.  There  is  no  enticement  here.  You  are  not 
allured.  You  are  revolted.  It  was  not  because  he  secretly 
loved  them,  that  this  man  dwelt  on  images  of  evil.  He  dwelt 
on  them  because  he  hated,  or  at  least  despised,  them,  and 
would  do  his  utmost  to  make  them  everywhere  hateful  or 
despicable.  So  at  least  we  read  Juvenal.  But  we  will  speak 
no  more  of  what  we  must  not  show. 

Happily  what  we  can  show  of  Juvenal  is  one  of  the  best  of 
his  satires — one  of  the  best,  and,  on  the  whole,  perhaps  quite 
the  most  celebrated.  There  are  sixteen  satires  in  all,  and  this 
is  the  tenth  of  the  series.  Dr.  Samuel  Johnson  has  given  it 
added  fame  for  English  readers  by  his  powerful  imitative 
poem,  "The  Vanity  of. Human  Wishes."  It  will  be  interest 
ing  to  study  the  original  and  the  imitation  together. 

It  is  wise  always  in  the  reader  to  remember  that  satires,  like 
comedies,  necessarily  depend  for  their  interest  so  much  on 
that  atmosphere  of  incident  and  event  in  which  they  were 
produced,  as  to  be  sadly  deprived  of  color  and  tone  through 
lapse  of  time  and  change  of  place.  The  full  text  of  Juvenal's 
Tenth  Satire  would  thus,  we  fear,  notwithstanding  the  ex- 


284  CLASSIC  LATIN  COURSE  IN  ENGLISH. 

traordinary  merit  of  the  poem,  prove  but  dull  reading  to 
many.  We  shall  need  to  be  select  and  to  be  short. 

The  motive  of  the  piece  is  tolerably  well  expressed  in  John- 
son's title,  ' '  The  Vanity  of  Human  Wishes."  That  expression, 
however,  is  ambiguous.  It  might  be  understood  to  convey  the 
idea  that  human  wishes  are  vain,  as  impotent  to  bring  about 
their  own  fulfillment.  The  satirist's  true  thought  is  rather, 
not  that  human  wishes  are  weak,  but  that  human  wishes  are 
blind  and  unwise.  We  wish  at  foolish  cross-purposes.  We 
desire  our  own  bane,  we  dread  our  own  blessing. 

There  is  a  recent  prose  translation,  published  by  Macmillan 
&  Co.,  very  good,  and  interesting  the  more  because  coming  to 
us  from  our  antipodes.  The  translators  are  English  scholars 
who  date  their  work  from  the  University  of  Melbourne,  in 
Australia.  We  resist  the  temptation  to  seem  fresh  by  using 
this  version,  and  go  back  to  the  pentameter  couplets  of  Gif- 
ford.  The  relief  of  verse  and  of  rhyme  will  be  found  grateful. 
Juvenal's  point  will  seem  sharper,  than  it  would  do  sheathed 
in  scholarlike,  but  not  literary,  prose. 

Let  Observation,  with  extensive  view, 
Survey  mankind  from  China  to  Peru, 

is  Johnson's  familiar  beginning.  The  tautologous  verbosity  of 
this  has  often  been  pointed  out.  It  is  an  extreme  specimen  of 
Johnson  at  his  worst.  Juvenal  gave  Johnson  the  hint,  but 
Johnson  is  himself  responsible  for  suffering  the  hint  to  carry 
him  so  far.  What  Juvenal  says  is  (as  our  Australian  transla- 
tors give  it),  "In  all  the  world — from  Gades  [Cadiz]  to  the 
land  of  the  Morning  and  its  Ganges."  Gifford  rhymes  it : 

In  every  clime,  from  Ganges'  distant  stream 
To  Gades,  gilded  by  the  western  beam. 

Juvenal  says  that  "in  every  clime  "  from  West  to  East,  the 
rule  is  for  men  to  wish  what,  if  granted,  will  probably  injure 
them.  For  example,  the  universal  craving  is  for  wealth,  but 
how  often  has  wealth  been  the  ruin  of  its  possessor !  The  rich, 


JUVENAL.  285 

under  bad  emperors,  became  the  prey  of  those  emperors,  while 
the  poor  escaped  by  their  own  obscurity.  The  satirist  recalls 
historic  instances  (Gifford's  translation)  : 

For  this,  in  other  times,  at  Nero's  word, 
The  ruffian  bands  unsheathed  the  murderous  sword, 
Rushed  to  the  swelling  coffers  of  the  great, 
Chased  Lat-e-ra'nus  from  his  lordly  seat, 
Besieged  too-wealthy  Seneca's  wide  walls, 
And  closed,  terrific,  round  Lon-gi'nus'  halls : 
While  sweetly  in  their  cocklofts  slept  the  poor, 
And  heard  no  soldier  thundering  at  their  door. 

The  traveller,  freighted  with  a  little  wealth 
Sets  forth  at  night,  and  wins  his  way  by  stealth : 
Even  then,  he  fears  the  bludgeon  and  the  blade, 
And  starts  and  trembles  at  a  rush's  shade ; 
While,  void  of  care,  the  beggar  trips  along, 
And,  in  the  spoiler's  presence,  trolls  his  song. 

Juvenal  thinks  that  if,  in  their  own  times,  De-moc/ri-tus 
could  laugh  incessantly,  and  Her-a-cli/tus  could  incessantly 
weep,  over  the  follies  of  their  fellow-creatures,  those  philoso- 
phers would  find  much  more  food  for  laughter  and  for  tears, 
were  they  to  enjoy  a  resurrection  under  the  Roman  empire  as 
he  himself  saw  the  Roman  empire.  The  laughter  of  Democ- 
ritus,  by  the  way,  Juvenal  says,  was  intelligible — anybody 
could  laugh ;  but  where  could  anybody  get  brine  enough  to 
keep  him  going  in  tears  ?  This  is  the  fashion  in  which  Juve- 
nal derided  the  pomp  of  civic  processions  and  military  tri- 
umphs in  Rome : 

Democritus,  at  every  step  he  took, 
His  sides  with  unextinguished  laughter  shook, 
Though,  in  his  days,  Abdera's  simple  towns 
No  fasces  knew,  chairs,  litters,  purple  gowns. 
What !  had  he  seen,  in  his  triumphal  car, 
Amid  the  dusty  Cirque,  conspicuous  far, 
The  Praetor  perched  aloft,  superbly  dress' d 
In  Jove's  proud  tunic,  with  a  trailing  vest 
Of  Tyrian  tapestry,  and  o'er  him  spread 
A  crown,  too  bulky  for  a  mortal  head, 
Borne  by  a  sweating  slave,  maintained  to  ride 


286  CLASSIC  LATIN  COURSE  IN  ENGLISH. 

In  the  same  car,  and  mortify  his  pride ! 
Add  now  the  bird,  that,  with  expanded  wing, 
From  the  raised  sceptre  seems  prepared  to  spring ; 
And  trumpets  here  ;  and  there  the  long  parade 
Of  duteous  friends,  who  head  the  cavalcade ; 
Add,  too,  the  zeal  of  clients  robed  in  white, 
Who  hang  upon  his  reins,  and  grace  the  sight, 
Unbribed,  unbought — save  by  the  dole,  at  night ! 

Juvenal  alludes  at  some  length  to  the  striking  fate  of  Seja'- 
nus.  Sejanus,  an  imperial  favorite  under  Tiberius,  became  a 
pretender  to  the  throne,  and  so  a  conspirator  against  his  sov- 
ereign. He  was  found  out,  was  strangled,  and  the  populace  rent 
his  dead  body  into  fragments,  which  they  flung  into  the  Tiber. 
The  statues  of  the  fallen  man  were  tumbled  down  and  melted 
up  in  fierce  fires,  kindled  on  the  street.  The  rabble  meantime 
ignorantly  exchanged  gibes,  in  their  street  talk,  at  the  very 
man  whom,  had  he  but  succeeded,  they  would  have  hailed  em- 
peror with  uproarious  cheers.  Now  Juvenal,  from  the  point  at 
which  the  fire  is  kindled  for  melting  up  the  bronze  Sejanus  : 

Then  roar  the  fires !  the  sooty  artist  blows, 
And  all  Sejanus  in  the  furnace  glows ; 
Sejanus,  once  so  honored,  so  adored, 
And  only  second  to  the  world's  great  lord, 
Runs  glittering  from  the  mould,  in  cups  and  cans, 
Basins  and  ewers,  plates,  pitchers,  pots,  and  pans. 

"  Crown  all  your  doors  with  bay,  triumphant  bay, 
Sacred  to  Jove,  the  milk-white  victim  slay  ; 
For  lo !  where  great  Sejanus  by  the  throng, 
A  joyful  spectacle !  is  dragged  along. 
What  lips !  what  cheeks !  ha,  traitor !— for  my  part, 
I  never  loved  the  fellow— in  my  heart." 
"  But  tell  me ;  Why  was  he  adjudged  to  bleed  ? 
And  who  discovered  ?  and  who  proved  the  deed  ?  " 
"  Proved ! — a  huge,  wordy  letter  came  to-day 
From  Caprese."    Good !  what  think  the  people  ?  They ! 
They  follow  fortune,  as  of  old,  and  hate, 
With  their  whole  souls,  the  victim  of  the  state. 
Yet  would  the  herd,  thus  zealous,  thus  on  fire, 
Had  Nurscia  met  the  Tuscan's  fond  desire, 
And  crushed  the  unwary  prince,  have  all  combined, 
And  hailed  Sejanus,  MASTER  OF  MANKIND  ! 


JTTVENAL.  287 

At  this  point  occurs  one  of  the  most  memorable  of  all  Juve- 
nal's satirical  strokes.  The  satirist  contrasts  former  popular 
freedom  with  present  popular  servitude.  The  same  Roman 
people,  he  says,  that  once  proudly  by  its  votes  conferred  every 
privilege  and  every  distinction,  now  confines  its  aspiration  to 
the  one  cry  for  bread  to  stop  its  mouth,  and  for  the  games 
of  the  circus  to  set  its  eyes  agape.  Panem  et  circenses  !  Food 
and  fun  at  the  public  expense,  were,  in  "Juvenal's  time,  suffi- 
cient to  content  the  degenerate  citizens  of  the  empire. 
"  Panem  et  circenses,"  is  a  famous  phrase  of  quotation.  '  Say,' 
exclaims  Juvenal,  suddenly — as  would  seem — bethinking  him- 
self that  he  had  introduced  Sejanus  for  a  purpose,  '  say,  would 
you  like  Sejanus's  power,  bought  at  Sejanus's  price  ? ' 

From  Sejanus,  Juvenal  goes  back  farther  for  historic  instan- 
ces, to  Crassus,  to  Pompey,  to  Csesar  : 

What  wrought  the  Crassi,  what  the  Pompeys'  doom, 
And  his,  who  bowed  the  stubborn  neck  of  Rome? 
What  but  the  wild,  the  unbounded  wish  to  rise, 
Heard,  in  malignant  kindness,  by  the  skies. 
Few  kings,  few  tyrants,  find  a  bloodless  end, 
Or  to  the  grave,  without  a  wound,  descend. 

Wealth  and  power  are  not  the  only  objects  foolishly  craved 
by  men.  The  ambition  and  the  prayer  to  be  eloquent  are  also 
disguised  and  unconscious  invocations  of  doom — witness  the 
examples  of  Demosthenes  and  Cicero  : 

The  child,  with  whom  a  trusty  slave  is  sent, 
Charged  with  his  little  scrip,  has  scarcely  spent 
His  mite  at  school,  ere  all  his  bosom  glows 
With  the  fond  hope  he  nevermore  foregoes, 
To  reach  Demosthenes'  or  Tully's  name, 
Rival  of  both  in  eloquence  and  fame ! — 
Yet,  by  this  eloquence,  alas !  expired 
Each  orator,  so  envied,  so  admired ! 
Yet,  by  the  rapid  and  resistless  sway 
Of  torrent  genius,  each  was  swept  away ! 
Genius,  for  that,  the  baneful  potion  sped, 
And  lopped,  from  this,  the  hands  and  gory  head : 


288  CLASSIC  LATIN  COURSE  IN  ENGLISH. 

While  meaner  pleaders  unmolested  stood, 

Nor  stained  the  rostrum  with  "heir  wretched  blood. 

In  the  gibe,  now  to  follow,  of  Juvenal,  at  Cicero's  jingling 
braggadocio  verse,  our  readers  will  note  how  ingeniously  the 
effect  on  the  ear,  of  the  Latin  line  laughed  at  by  the  satirist, 
is  imitated  by  Mr.  Gifford  in  his  translation.  Juvenal  avers 
that,  for  Cicero's  own  happiness,  it  would  have  been  better  for 
him  to  write  nothing  but  such  stuff  as  even  that  ludicrous  line 
of  poetry,  than  it  was  to  launch  at  Antony  the  naming  bolt  of 
eloquence  which  cost  the  orator  his  life  : 


day  was  thine, 
In  that  LATE  coriswLATE,  O  Home,  of  mine  /" 
Oh,  soul  of  eloquence  !  had  all  been  found 
An  empty  vaunt,  like  this,  a  jingling  sound, 
Thou  might'  st,  in  peace,  thy  humble  fame  have  borne, 
And  laughed  Hie  swords  of  Antony  to  scorn  ! 
Yet  this  would  I  profer  —  the  common  jest  — 
To  that  which  fired  the  fierce  triumvir's  breast, 
That  second  scroll,  where  eloquence  divine 
Burst  on  the  ear  from  every  glowing  line. 
And  he  too  fell,  whom  Athens,  wondering,  saw 
Her  tierce  democracy,  at  will,  o'  era  we, 
And  "  fulmine  over  Greece  !  "    Some  angry  Power 
Scowled,  with  dire  influence,  on  his  natal  hour. 
Bleared  with  the  glowing  mass,  the  ambitious  sire, 
From  anvils,  sledges,  bellows,  tongs,  and  fire, 
From  temp'  ring  swords,  his  own  more  safe  employ, 
To  study  RHETOKIC,  sent  his  hopeful  boy. 

Macaulay  thinks  that  Johnson's  passage,  parallel  to  the  fore- 
going —  a  passage  descriptive  of  the  disappointments  that  dog 
the  literary  life  —  is  finer  than  the  original  which  it  imitates. 

The  topics  successively  treated  by  Juvenal  are  Wealth, 
Power,  Eloquence,  Military  Fame,  Long  Life,  Personal  Beauty, 
as  objects  of  human  desire  likely,  even  if  gained,  to  involve 
the  gainer  in  special  disappointment  and  misery.  Hannibal, 
Alexander,  Xerxes,  are  the  historical  examples  adduced,  of 
thirst  for  the  vain  delight  of  warlike  renown.  A  wild  desire, 
Juvenal  declares  it,  and  says  (Gifford's  translation)  : 


JUVENAL.  289 

Yet  has  this  wild  desire,  in  other  days, 
This  boundless  avarice  of  a  few  for  praise, 
This  frantic  rage  for  names  to  grace  a  tomb, 
Involved  whole  countries  in  one  general  doom ; 
Vain  "  rage ! "  the  roots  of  the  wild  fig-tree  rise, 
Strike  through  the  marble,  and  their  memory  dies ! 

The  "  wild  fig-tree  "  of  Juvenal  is,  no  doubt,  the  allusion  in- 
tended in  Tennyson's  "  Princess  "  : 

"  though  the  rough  kex  break 
The  starred  mosaic,  and  the  wild  goat  hang 
Upon  tlio  pillar,  and  the  wild  fig-tree  split 
Their  monstrous  idols." 

Juvenal's  passage  about  Hannibal  is  one  of  the  finest  in  the 
satire.  The  words, ' '  Expende  Hannibalem ' '  meaning  ' '  Weigh 
Hannibal" — that  is,  weigh  the  inurned  ashes,  or  the  buried 
dust,  that  alone  remain  as  relic  of  the  living  man — these  two 
words  have  become  a  not  infrequent  literary  quotation  used  to 
set  forth  the  "  little  measure  "  to  which  the  mightiest  dead  are 
shrunk.  Hodgson  dilutes,  but  dilutes  rather  successfully,  as 
follows : 

How  are  the  mighty  changed  to  dust !    How  small 
The  urn  that  holds  what  once  was  Hannibal ! 

Now  Gifford's  version  of  Juvenal's  satirical  homily  on  Han- 
nibal : 

Produce  the  urn  that  Hannibal  contains, 
And  weigh  the  mighty  dust,  which  yet  remains : 
AND  is  THIS  ALL  ?    Yet  THIS  was  once  the  bold, 
The  aspiring  chief,  whom  Afric  could  not  hold, 
Though  stretched  in  breadth  from  where  the  Atlantic  roars, 
To  distant  Nilus,  and  his  sun-burnt  shores ; 
In  length,  from  Carthage  to  the  burning  zone, 
Where  other  Moors,  and  elephants  are  known. 
— Spain  conquered,  o'er  the  Pyrenees  he  bounds : 
Nature  opposed  her  everlasting  mounds, 
Her  Alps,  and  snows ;  o'er  these,  with  torrent  force, 
He  pours  and  rends  through  rocks  his  dreadful  course. 
Already  at  his  feet  Italia  lies ; — 

Yet  thundering  on,  "  Think  nothing  done,"  he  cries, 
"  Till  Rome,  proud  Rome,  beneath  my  fury  falls, 


290  CLASSIC  LATIN  COURSE  IN  ENGLISH. 

And  Afric's  standards  float  along  her  walls !  " 

Big  words ! — but  view  his  figure ! — view  his  face ! 

O,  for  some  master-hand  the  lines  to  trace, 

As  through  the  Etrurian  swamps,  by  floods  increased, 

The  one-eyed  chief  urged  his  Getulian  beast ! 

But  what  ensued  ?    Illusive  Glory,  say. 
Subdued  on  Zama's  memorable  day, 
He  flies  in  exile  to  a  petty  state, 
With  headlong  haste !  and,  at  a  despot's  gate, 
Sits,  mighty  suppliant !  of  his  life  in  doubt, 
Till  the  Bithynian's  morning  nap  be  out. 

No  swords,  nor  spears,  nor  stones  from  engines  hurled, 
Shall  quell  th^  man  whose  frown  alarmed  the  world : 
The  vengeance  due  to  Cannae's  fatal  field, 
And  floods  of  human  gore,  a  ring  shall  yield ! 
Fly,  madman,  fly !  at  toil  and  danger  mock, 
Pierce  the  deep  snow,  and  scale  the  eternal  rock, 
To  please  the  rhetoricians,  and  become 
A  DECLAMATION  for  the  boys  of  Borne ! 

Charles  XII.  of  Sweden  serves  Johnson  for  his  modern 
instance,  matched  against  the  Roman's  Hannibal.  On  Charles 
for  text,  Johnson  is  fired  to  preach  in  sonorous  rhymes  his 
very  best  sermon.  "Juvenal's  Hannibal  must  yield  to  John- 
son's Charles,"  says  Macaulay.  But  let  our  readers  judge. 
Here  is  Johnson  : 

On  what  foundation  stands  the  warrior's  pride, 
How  just  his  hopes,  let  Swedish  Charles  decide. 
A  frame  of  adamant,  a  soul  of  fire, 
No  dangers  fright  him,  and  no  labors  tire ; 
O'er  love,  o'er  fear,  extends  his  wide  domain, 
Unconquer'd  lord  of  pleasure  and  of  pain  ; 
No  joys  to  him  pacific  sceptres  yield, 
War  sounds  the  trump,  he  rushes  to  the  field. 
Behold  surrounding  kings  their  pow'rs  combine, 
And  one  capitulate,  and  one  resign : 
Peace  courts  his  hand,  but  spreads  her  charms  in  vain  ; 
'  Think  nothing  gain'd,'  he  cries,  '  till  naught  remain, 
On  Moscow's  walls  till  Gothic  standards  fly, 
And  all  be  mine  beneath  the  polar  sky.' 
The  march  begins,  in  military  state, 
And  nations  on  his  eye  suspended  wait ; 
Stern  Famine  guards  the  solitary  coast, 


JUVENAL.  291 

And  Winter  barricades  the  realms  of  Frost ; 
He  conies,  nor  want  nor  cold  his  course  delay ! — 
Hide,  blushing  glory,  hide  Pultowa's  day : 
The  vanquish' d  hero  leaves  his  broken  bauds, 
And  shows  his  miseries  in  distant  lands ; 
Condemn' d  a  needy  supplicant  to  wait, 
While  ladies  interpose,  and  slaves  debate. 
But  did  not  Chance  at  length  her  error  mend  ? 
Did  not  subverted  empire  mark  his  end  ? 
Did  rival  rnonarchs  give  the  fatal  wound  ? 
Or  hostile  millions  press  him  to  the  ground  ? 
His  fall  was  destin'd  to  a  barren  strand, 
A  petty  fortress,  and  a  dubious  hand  ; 
He  left  the  name  at  which  the  world  grew  pale, 
To  point  a  moral,  or  adorn  a  tale. 

So  much  perhaps  will  do  in  the  way  of  paralleling  Johnson 
with  Juvenal.  In  what  remains,  from  this  point  onward  to 
the  end,  of  the  two  poems,  both  poets  are  at  their  best  in 
fecund  conception  and  in  felicitous  execution.  We,  however, 
will  refrain  from  Johnson  and  confine  ourselves  to  Juvenal. 
At  the  same  time,  we  cordially  commond  to  readers  that  have 
the  taste  and  the  leisure  for  the  purpose,  a  continued  compari- 
son of  the  modern  with  the  ancient  poem. 

Juvenal's  satiric  genius  fairly  revels  in  describing  the 
wretchedness  of  old  age.  The  desire  of  long  life,  he  says, 
entails,  if  gratified,  unnumbered  ills.  These  ills  certainly 
were  never  more  powerfully  portrayed  than  they  are  here 
portrayed  by  Juvenal : 

Strength,  beauty,  and  a  thousand  charms  beside, 
With  sweet  distinction,  youth  from  youth  divide ; 
While  age  presents  one  universal  face  ; 
A  faltering  voice,  a  weak  and  trembling  pace, 
An  ever-dropping  nose,  a  forehead  bare, 
And  toothless  gums  to  mumble  o'er  its  fare. 
Poor  wretch !  behold  him,  tottering  to  his  fall, 
So  loathsome  to  himself,  wife,  children,  all, 
That  those  who  hoped  the  legacy  to  share, 
And  nattered  long — disgusted,  disappear. 
The  sluggish  palate  dulled,  the  feast  no  more 
Excites  the  same  sensations  as  of  yore ; 


292  CLASSIC  LATIN  COURSE  IN  ENGLISH. 

Taste,  feeling,  all,  a  universal  blot, 

The  dearest  joys  of  sense  remembered  not. 

Another  loss ! — no  joy  can  song  inspire, 
Though  famed  Seleucus  lead  the  warbling  quire : 
The  sweetest  airs  escape  him  ;  and  the  lute, 
Which  thrills  the  general  ear,  to  him  is  mute. 
He  sits,  perhaps,  too  distant :  bring  him  near ; 
Alas !  'tis  still  the  same :  he  scarce  can  hear 
The  deep-toned  horn,  the  trumpet's  clanging  sound, 
And  the  loud  blast  which  shakes  the  benches  round. 
Even  at  his  ear,  his  slave  must  bawl  the  hour, 
And  shout  the  comer's  name,  with  all  his  power ! 

These  their  shrunk  shoulders,  those  their  hams  bemoan ; 
This  hath  no  eyes,  and  envies  that  with  one : 
This  takes,  as  helpless  at  the  board  he  stands, 
His  food,  with  bloodless  lips,  from  others'  hands  ; 
While  that,  whose  eager  jaws,  instinctive,  spread 
At  every  feast,  gapes  feebly  to  be  fed, 
Like  Progne's  brood,  when,  laden  with  supplies, 
From  bill  to  bill  the  fasting  mother  flies. 

But  other  ills,  and  worse,  succeed  to  those : 
His  limbs  long  since  were  gone ;  his  memory  goes. 
Poor  driveler !  he  forgets  his  servants  quite, 
Forgets,  at  morn,  with  whom  he  supped  at  night ; 
Forgets  the  children  he  begot  and  bred ; 
And  makes  a  strumpet  heiress  in  their  stead. 

The  allusion  to  Prog'ne  is  the  translator's,  not  Juvenal'8 
own.  Progne  was  one  of  Ovid's  women,  changed  to  a  swallow. 

Two  or  three  lines  of  Johnson's  imitation  are  too  good  not, 
after  all,  to  be  quoted  here  : 

Superfluous  lags  the  veteran  on  the  stage. 

From  Marlborough's  eyes  the  tears  of  dotage  flow, 
And  Swift  expires  a  driveler  and  a  show. 

Juvenal  prolongs  his  detail  of  the  miseries  unconsciously 
invoked  in  prayers  for  longevity,  through  a  hundred  lines 
or  so  additional  to  those  which  we  have  given.  Out  of 
Homer,  Nestor  is  cited  as  a  witness,  and  Ulysses's  father, 
Laertes,  and  Pe'leus,  father  to  Achilles — all  living  to  deplore 


JUVENAL.  293 

their  children  dead  or  lost ;  Priam,  too,  surviving  the  glory 
of  Troy,  and  Hec'uba  transformed  to  a  barking  bitch. 
Mithrida/tes,  then,  is  summoned,  and  Croesus  with  the 
legend  of  Solon  admonishing  him  ;  and  aged  Marius  bereft 
of  everything  but  life  ;  and  Pompey  recovering  from  a  Cam- 
panian  fever,  only  to  encounter  in  Egypt  a  worse  doom  of 
death.  By  the  mocking  irony  of  fate,  conspirators  Len/tu-lus, 
Ceth-e/gus,  Cat'i-line  escaped  at  least  the  indignity  of  bodily 
mutilation  in  dying.  Readers  depressed  by  all  this  remorse- 
less realism  of  the  satirist  describing  old  age,  may  turn  the 
pages  of  the  present  volume  and,  from  Cicero's  store,  refresh 
themselves  as  they  can,  with  the  suave  consolations  of  the 
philosopher  treating  the  same  subject. 

The  last  topic  treated  in  the  satire  is  that  of  Personal 
Beauty.  Juvenal,  with  great  power,  exhibits  the  spectacle, 
so  familiar  in  history,  of 

Beauty  and  anguish  walking  hand  in  hand 
The  downward  slope  to  death. 

We  shall  not  follow  the  satirist  in  this  part  of  his  poem. 
Some  of  the  strongest  strokes  in  it  are  of  a  nature  that  unfits 
them  to  be  reproduced  in  these  pages.  And  we  need  to 
say  that  the  dotted  lines  in  previous  extracts,  have,  more  than 
once,  marked  the  omission  of  verses  which  we  could  not 
properly  show.  In  barely  a  single  instance  foregoing — where, 
for  completion  of  thought,  it  seemed  necessary  to  retain  the 
line — we  even  ventured  on  a  silent  change  of  half  a  dozen 
words,  in  order  so  to  make  the  frankness  of  Juvenal  less 
intolerable  to  modern  taste. 

Here  is  a  couplet  of  Gifford's,  translating  with  spirit  a 
sentence  of  Juvenal's,  in  the  latter  part  of  his  satire,  that  well 
deserves  its  fame : 

A  woman  scorned  is  pitiless  as  fate, 

For  there  the  dread  of  shame  adds  stings  to  hate. 

Every  student  of  history  is  qualified,  but  a  Roman  under 


294  CLASSIC  LATIN  COURSE  IN  ENGLISH. 

the  empire  was  peculiarly  qualified,  to  appreciate  the  justness 
of  the  sentiment.  Congreve's  couplet  will  naturally  occur 
to  some  minds : 

Heaven  has  no  rage  like  love  to  hatred  turned, 
Nor  hell  a  fury  like  a  woman  scorned. 

The  conclusion  of  all  is  well-nigh  Christian — in  spirit, 
though  at  points  the  form  is  pagan  enough.  We  present  it  in 
the  prose  translation,  which  is  very  readable,  furnished  in 
Bohn's  Classical  Library: 

Is  there  then  nothing  for  which  men  shall  pray  ?  If  you  will 
take  advice,  you  will  allow  the  deities  themselves  to  determine 
what  may  be  expedient  for  us,  and  suitable  to  our  condition.  For 
instead  of  pleasant  things,  the  gods  will  give  us  all  that  is  most  fit- 
ting. Mi*n  is  dearer  to  them  than  to  himself.  We,  led  on  by  the 
impulse  of  our  minds,  by  blind  and  headstrong  passions,  pray 
for  wedlock,  and  issue  by  our  wives ;  but  it  is  known  to  them  what 
our  children  will  prove ;  of  what  character  our  wife  will  be !  Still, 
that  you  may  have  somewhat  to  pray  for,  and  vow  to  their  shrines 
the  entrails  and  consecrated  mincemeat  of  the  white  porker,  your 
prayer  must  be  that  you  may  have  a  sound  mind  in  a  sound  body. 
Pray  for  a  bold  spirit,  free  from  all  dread  of  death ;  that  reckons 
the  closing  scene  of  life  among  nature's  kindly  boons ;  that  can  en- 
dure labor,  whatever  it  be ;  that  knows  not  the  passion  of  anger ; 
that  covets  nothing ;  that  deems  the  gnawing  cares  of  Hercules, 
and  all  his  cruel  toils,  far  preferable  to  the  joys  of  Venus,  rich 
banquets,  and  the  downy  couch  of  Sar-dan-a-pa'lus.  I  show  thee 
what  thou  canst  confer  upon  thyself.  The  only  path  that  surely 
leads  to  a  life  of  peace  lies  through  virtue.  If  we  have  wise  fore- 
sight, thou,  Fortune,  hast  no  divinity.  It  is  we  that  make  thee 
a  deity,  and  place  thy  throne  in  heaven ! 

As  might,  from  the  foregoing,  be  guessed,  the  well-worn 
phrase,  mens  sana  in  corpore  sano,  "  a  sound  mind  in  a  sound 
body,"  is  Juvenal's.  In  proposing  the  combination  thus 
named,  as  a  good  of  life  proper  to  be  prayed  for,  Juvenal 
makes  the  impression  of  being  himself  a  well-attempered  mind 
judging  as  soundly  as  a  pagan  could,  of  the  chief  earthly 
human  need. 

There  is  a  note  struck  in  the  conclusion  to  Juvenal's  great 


JUVENAL.  295 

masterpiece  of  satire,  not  far  out  of  chord  with  the  closing 
lines  of  Bryant's  Thanatopsis.  One  word  alone  in  the  Ameri- 
can's strain  distinguishes  it  in  tone  from  the  Roman's.  That 
word  is  "  trust."  But  trust,  in  prospect  of  death,  is  a  Christian 
idea,  and  Juvenal  was  no  Christian.  To  face  death  without 
fear,  but  also  without  trust, — that  was  Roman  ;  and  Roman  of 
Romans  was  Juvenal.  How  one  sighs,  and  vainly  sighs,  with 
desire  to  have  sweetened  the  bravery  and  the  scorn  of  many  of 
those  majestic  men  of  Rome  with  the  meekness  of  trust  and 
obedience  toward  Jesus  ! 


CHAPTEE  XIII. 

EPILOGUE. 

THIS  chapter  will  somewhat  resemble  the  inscription  on  a 
cenotaph.  If  we  had  left  ourselves  room  for  the  purpose,  we 
should  have  been  glad  to  go  far  enough  beyond  the  limit  fixed 
in  our  choice  of  title  for  this  volume,  to  provide,  from  the 
admirable  post-classic  writer  Quintilian,  such  retrospective 
commentary  on  Latin  literature  taken  in  its  entirety  as  would 
constitute  a  true  epilogue  to  the  present  work.  As  it  is,  we 
must  content  ourselves  with  simply  directing  our  readers  to 
the  place  where  what  may  be  considered  at  least  a  kind  of 
epilogue  may  be  found.  That  place  is  in  the  CLASSIC  FRENCH 
COURSE  IN  ENGLISH,  a  book  of  the  same  series  with  this, 
devoted  to  the  exhibition  of  one,  the  chief  one,  of  those  great 
modern  literatures  which  have  used  for  their  vehicle  of  ex- 
pression various  languages  modified  from  the  ancient  Latin, 
as  their  common  original. 

The  Eoman  Empire  in  giving  a  language  to  the  literature 
which  was  finally  to  be  in  the  largest  and  most  important 
section  of  the  imperial  province  of  Gaul,  gave  also  in  some 
sense  a  law  and  a  spirit  to  that  literature.  This  relation  it  is 
of  French  letters  to  Latin  that  warrants  us  in  suggesting,  by 
way  of  present  farewell  to  our  readers,  that  in  the  above- 
mentioned  volume  they  may  find,  not  indeed  a  formal,  but  a 
virtual,  epilogue  to  what  has  been  submitted  for  their  con- 
sideration in  the  foregoing  pages. 

296 


INDEX. 


ADDISON,  Joseph,  22, 88. 
./Eschines,  10. 
Alexander  the  Great,  288. 
Antony,  Mark,  55,  56, 70  ff.,  94. 
Aristophanes,  217. 
Aristotle,  82. 
Atterbury,  Bishop,  277. 
Augustus,  Csesar,  11,  12,  21,  56,  92,  93, 

94,96,98,136,175,261,263. 
Bryant,  William  Cullen,  295. 
Burke,  Edmund,  57. 
CAESAR,  Julius,  9, 11, 13,  14,  20,  27,  28- 

50, 54,  68,  69,  75,  83,  85,  86,  90, 143,  245. 
Carlyle,  Thomas,  10. 
Catiline,  13,  31,  53,  58ff. 
Cato  (the  Censor),  9, 10, 11, 88, 89. 
Charles  XII.  (of  Sweden),  290. 
Choate,  Rufus,  55,  76,  77. 
Church  and  Brodribb,  165. 
CICERO  (Tully),  8, 10, 51-90, 106, 245, 287, 

288,  293. 

Cicero,  Quintus,  43,  44,  48. 
Columbus,  Christopher,  49. 
Congreve,  William,  294. 
Conington,  John,  95  ff.,  278. 
Cortes,  49. 
Dante,  259. 
Democrltus,  285. 
Demosthenes,  10, 57, 70, 287. 
DeQuincey,  Thomas,  50. 
Dryden,  John,  97, 102, 124. 
Ennius,  8, 10, 84. 
Epicurus,  246. 
Francis,  Dr.  Philip,  264,  267. 
Qifford,  William,  284-293  freq. 
Gracchi,  The,  11. 
Hannibal,  146  ff.,  288,  289,  290. 
Havelock,  Sir  Henry,  44. 


Heraclitus,  285. 

Hesiod,  97. 

Hirtius,  49. 

Hodgson,  289. 

Holmes,  Oliver  Wendell,  269. 

Homer,  11,  27,  56,  91,  97,  102,  103,  112, 

140,  141, 142,  259,  292. 
HORACE,  8,  9, 12,  21,  259-280,  281. 
Hortensius,  10, 11. 
Jerome,  Saint,  257. 
Johnson,  Dr.  Samuel,  283-292. 
Jugurtha,  13ff. 
JUVENAL,  9,  89,  281-295. 
LVvius,  Andronicus,  8. 
LlVY,  11,  21,  143-174, 175. 
Lowell,  J.  E.,  12. 
Lucan,  212. 
Lucilius,  79,  281. 
LUCRETIUS,  8,  111,  245-258. 
Luther,  Martin,  82. 
Macaulay  (Lord),  177,  204, 215, 288,  290. 
Maecenas,  12,  21,  261, 263. 
Mallock,  W.  H.,  248,  256. 
Marie  Antoinette,  200. 
Marius,  13  ff.,  30,  51, 144. 
Martin,  Sir  Theodore,  265,  266,  269, 

271,  278. 

Maurice,  F.  D.,  266. 
Menander,  9, 217,  244. 
Milton,  John,  22,  93,  259,  265,  266,  267, 

278. 

Mommsen,  Theodor,  31. 
Munro  (translator  of  Lucretius),  247, 

248,  252,  253. 
Naevius,  8, 9. 

Napoleon  (the  Great),  149. 
Napoleon  III.,  32. 
Nepos,  11. 


297 


298 


INDEX. 


Nero,  48, 179ff. 

OVID,  12, 13,  21-27,  292. 

Paul  (the  Apostle),  84, 86, 256. 

Persius,  281. 

Philip  (of  Macedon),  70. 

Pindar,  264. 

PLAUTUS,  9, 217-234,244. 

Pliny,  56, 176. 

Plutarch,  40. 

Pompey,  the  Great,  64, 55, 59, 143. 

Pope,  Alexander,  21, 96, 139, 142, 280. 

Quintilian,  12. 

SALLUST,  11, 13-20, 21. 

Scipio  (African us  Major),  150. 

Scipio  (African us  Minor),  151, 171-174. 

8cott,  Sir  Walter,  101. 

Seneca,  143, 180, 197, 208ff. 


Suetonius,  11, 48. 

Sulpicius,  79, 80. 

Sylla,  13ff.,  144. 

TACITUS,  8, 11, 165, 175-216,  281. 

Tennyson,  Lord,  257,  258,  266,  267,  289. 

TERENCE,  9, 217-244, 245. 

Theocritus,  94, 95. 

Thomson,  James,  101. 

Thucydides,  176. 

VIRGIL,  8,  11,  12,  13,  16,  21,  27,  91-142, 

255,  259,  266,  267. 
Wellington,  Duke  of,  204. 
William  (of  Orange),  215. 
Wordsworth,  William,  271. 
Xenophon,  151. 
Xerxes,  288. 


A     000  097  887     4 


